


Feathers of Faith and Steel

by Cheesesack (Omnitron310)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Action, Angst, F/F, Fluff, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Anguish, Romance, Sweet, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-30
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-08-18 17:45:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8170391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Omnitron310/pseuds/Cheesesack
Summary: Pharah is confused and just a little bit scared by the feelings she's developing for Overwatch's resident angel. Love and all its associated trappings have never come easily to her, so she's more than happy to take the time needed to properly handle the situation. However, her hand is forced when a mission goes disastrously wrong and, despite her best efforts, Mercy is kidnapped by Talon and their sinister agents. Now, haunted by guilt and thoughts of a future that may be lost forever, it's up to her to rescue the woman she loves from their clutches. But will the damage done to both of them prove irreparable?





	1. Halcyon Memories

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys. I know it's annoying to read long monologues from authors, so I'll keep it short and sweet. Welcome to my story. I hope you enjoy it :) If you do, or even if you don't, I'd love to read any comments or reviews you have. Those are always a huge inspiration to continue writing. Also, a big thank you to everyone who's looked over it or beta'd for it, and continues to do so (especially Maxaro, who has a knack for catching all those minor mistakes I miss :P ).
> 
> Just one disclaimer before we begin: the Explicit rating is for all kinds of things, including stuff that is yet to come. That includes language, violence, gore, sex, angst, all that good stuff. If that puts you off for any reason, I will just say that while I enjoy putting characters through hell, I am also a sucker for happy endings. Take from that what you will.
> 
> Also, this story is on ff.net as well. I'll aim to keep both versions updated simultaneously. Find it here, if you'e interested:  
> https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12090665/1/Feathers-of-Faith-and-Steel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having finally come face-to-face with the consequences of her mistakes, a traumatised Fareeha reflects on happier times, and when her feelings for Angela began.

**Watchpoint: Gibraltar**

**Present Day – 1746 Hours**

“Pulse is thready, 54 bpm low. I need 10cc epinephrine.”

“Theatre two is prepped and on standby, awaiting pre-op checks.”

“Good, someone upload these cardiograms to the NRB. Set scan depth to 4mm. We need to clear these surface rounds before going deeper.”

“Oxygen levels in the soft tissues show borderline cardiogenic shock. We may need to bypass the…”

“…traces of dehexanitride, possibly some type of poison shot…”

“…severe bleeding in the thoracic cavity.”

“…neural stimulant…”

Fareeha Amari stood there in numb silence. Before her, the gurney bearing Dr. Angela Ziegler was rushed down the corridor, paramedics swarming over it like flies. All around, the air was filled with the sounds of hurried footfalls and a torrent of medical jargon. The words washed over Fareeha, but none penetrated deep enough for her to even realise how little she understood them. She didn’t need to. The tone of the doctors’ urgent voices was more than enough to convey the message: it was bad. Possibly as bad as it could be. 

_And it’s all my fault._

Only once the medical team had passed through the double doors of the trauma wing, and Angela was completely out of sight, did Fareeha look away. She cast her eyes downward, gaze falling on the object she held one half of in each trembling hand. Mercy’s Caduceus Staff, rendered completely inoperable from being snapped in two, and still coated with the dried blood of its owner. It was an image straight out of Fareeha’s nightmares, except this time, there was no prospect of waking up in a cold sweat and realising it had just been a terrible dream. Angela really was dying.

_And it’s all my fault._

The staff wasn’t the only thing stained with Angela’s cruor. Fareeha’s own battered Raptora armour bore several fresh, crimson streaks from where she’d carried Mercy’s bruised and bleeding body out of that hell-hole. The tiny part of her mind that was still rational, professional, told her that she needed to clean it off ASAP or it would rust the coating. The other 99% couldn’t care less. Nothing mattered but the woman behind those doors. A woman she may never see alive again.

 _And, gods forgive me, it’s all my fault._  

Fareeha’s grip on the staff was iron-tight as she tried to stop herself from shaking, but all she succeeded in doing was straining the joints in her fingers until the ache had permeated up her entire arm. In her mind, images from the past week flashed by at lightning speed, and as each scene played back, she cursed herself and her own weaknesses. She hadn’t been alert enough to stop them abducting Angela. She hadn’t been smart enough to figure out where they’d taken her straight away. She hadn’t been fast enough to get there before they’d battered her to within an inch of her life. And, now that the unthinkable was on the verge of happening, Fareeha realised that she wasn’t strong enough to go on without her, or live with the guilt of knowing that she could have prevented it.

“H-Hey, Pharah, are you…” 

Fareeha’s eyes shot up, fixing Mei-Lin Zhou with a piercing stare and bringing the other woman’s question to a stumbling halt. Multiple emotions crashed through Fareeha’s mind in that moment, each arriving with breath-taking intensity, then vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. Annoyance at having her thoughts interrupted, gratitude that a friend would try to reach out to her, rage that someone would dare question how she felt when the answer was surely obvious, and embarrassment, at letting her inner turmoil show so easily. In the end though, a form of cloying numbness won out. What she wanted more than anything was just to be left alone.

“Take this,” she said stiffly, holding out the pieces of the broken Caduceus Staff. She was suddenly unable to stand the sight of it. It was a testament to her failure, and the disastrous consequences that had followed. “Give it to Torbjörn for repair. She’ll want it back when she’s recovered.”

“Pharah, I…” Mei hesitated, as if she was picking her words very carefully. “I’m not sure if…”

“It wasn’t a request,” Fareeha cut her off sharply, wincing at how aggressive she sounded. It wasn’t fair to shout at Mei, but Fareeha couldn’t let the other woman give voice to the fear that was gnawing at her heart. “I’m…sorry. I will be in my quarters. I do not wish to be disturbed.”

No sooner had she finished speaking, then she was retreating down the corridor, striding so fast that she almost broke into a jog. Fareeha needed to put some space between herself and everything else. But especially that room where, even now, Angela was being cut apart with lasers and scalpels. The thought of her delicate, smooth skin being ripped open so a group of strangers could attempt to rebuild her from the inside out…it was enough to make Fareeha retch. She stopped momentarily, leaning heavily on the wall for support as she struggled to keep down the meagre rations she’d had for lunch. The taste of bile stung the back of her throat, and it was only by focusing on rhythmic breathing, and not the horror that she was fleeing from, that she managed to regain some semblance of control.

Mercifully, she did not meet anyone else on the way to her room. They were probably all at the debriefing, she thought; a meeting that she should be attending as well. The fact they had not called for her was strange, but perhaps understandable, given the circumstances. It was also possible that Mei had forestalled their attempts at communication. If so, Fareeha decided that gratitude was the most appropriate choice for what she should be feeling about the diminutive scientist.

Entering her quarters, Fareeha immediately sealed the door behind her, engaging a privacy lock that could only be overridden by a direct command from a superior or a state of emergency being initiated. Then, on autopilot, she finally began stripping off her armour plates. She let the pieces fall to the ground with a resounding clang of metal on concrete, making none of her usual efforts to meticulously check each one for damage and polish it before it was stowed away. It was a process that took almost ten minutes, but Fareeha barely registered the passage of time. When she next became consciously aware of her surroundings, she was sat on the edge of her bed, clad only in a sweat-soaked undersleeve. The muscles in her arms still ached, although whether that was from her exertions during the mission, or from being constantly tensed ever since she came back, she couldn’t tell.

There was one last order of business for the time being. Fareeha tapped her comm link, patching herself through to the medbay. Hearing anything that was happening there was the last thing she wanted, but it was necessary.

“This is Doctor Singh,” came the strained answer moments later. He was clearly agitated and in no mood to be taking calls. Fareeha refused to speculate on whether or not that was a bad sign.

“Doctor, this is Captain Amari.”

“Ah, miss Amari. I’m afraid you’ll have to make this quick. We have a very urgent case, and I can’t spare more than a few min-…yes…yes, sterilize another one of the 10mm blades. We’ll need it for…I’m sorry, miss Amari, but whatever you have to say, please do so quickly.”

“About your patient, doctor.” It was all Fareeha could do to stop herself screaming at the man, despite knowing it would accomplish nothing. “Contact me the second there is any news. Anything, no matter how minor, understand?”

“Yes, yes, you’ll be the first to know.” 

“And if you need a donor for anything; any blood, any bone marrow, a kidney, liver tissue, skin grafts…a-anything, you contact me also. I will provide it.”

There was silence for a few beats before Doctor Singh spoke again, his tone more subdued than before.

“Understood.” 

“Remember, doctor: anything.”

“…we’ll be in touch.”

Fareeha let out a ragged breath as the line was cut. It hadn’t been her intention to offer parts of herself like some kind of meat rack. No doubt she’d sounded laughably naïve and ignorant of the many medical reasons why that wouldn’t be possible. But she also felt like she needed to do something, anything, to stop herself from feeling completely helpless.

 _Why couldn’t I have been taken instead?_  

Now, alone at last, she allowed some small measure of what she was feeling to seep back into her mind. It was a difficult process, like trying to let just a tiny bit of air out of a pressurised oxygen tank. But it was also necessary for much the same reasons. Fareeha knew that if she let everything hit her at once, she really would be violently sick; and that would just be the beginning. 

She was, sadly, used to seeing death and injury. It came with the job, and with the world still struggling to recover from the Omnic Crisis, there was plenty of it to go around. Men and women under her command had died before, and although she had felt their loss and grieved for them in her own, stoic way, none had ever come close to cutting her so deeply. It was like every wound Angela had suffered had been inflicted on Fareeha as well, straight to her heart. What made this time so different?

It was a question that barely needed asking. The fact was, Angela was much more than just another soldier. She was even more than a trusted friend and colleague. At first, that is what she had been, but now, and for some time…Fareeha didn’t dare finish the thought. She didn’t deserve to be thinking that way; not when it was her mistakes that had caused the other woman so much pain. Angela deserved far better. 

_If only I’d told her sooner._

It had all started many months ago…

* * *

**Watchpoint: Lyon**

**2 Months Ago- 2113 Hours**

The battle had been long and hard-fought, but after numerous casualties on both sides, it looked like an end was finally in sight. Pharah narrowed her eyes, surveying the battlefield from above and noting the positions of the few remaining enemies. Her own men had taken a beating, and their numbers were severely reduced, but their sacrifices had been worth it. Now, she had the enemy commander backed into a corner, with only a few straggling flankers posing any kind of threat to the defensive formation her team had adopted. Victory seemed all but assured, but if a decade as a soldier had taught her anything, it was that you should never let your guard down until the job was done. The weaker the enemy got, the more desperate, and thus the more dangerous and unpredictable, they became.

She hesitated momentarily, poised on giving the order to close in. At times like these, she often wondered what was going through the mind of her adversary. Would they see the hopelessness of their situation, and take the easy way out by surrendering? Or would they grit their teeth and demand a bitter struggle to the last man, forcing Pharah to fight even for those last few inches of ground?

There was only one way to find out. Pharah gestured forwards, and the first of her men advanced, cautiously approaching the enemy commander’s position. As he did, Pharah, in spite of herself, couldn’t help but quirk the corner of her mouth in a tiny smile of triumph. Victory was within her grasp.

“Check.”

On the other side of the table, Angela let out a small ‘hmph’, glowering at the knight that now threatened her king. With only three pawns, a bishop, and a knight of her own, she was heavily outmatched by Fareeha’s five pawns, two knights, bishop, and rook.

“Verdammt,” she mumbled, eyes flicking from piece to piece. “I knew I should not have left it so late to castle.”

“I did wonder,” Fareeha smirked. “But you know the saying: ‘Never interrupt your enemy when he…she is making a mistake.’”

“Enemy?” Angela affected an expression of mock surprise. “You wound me. And here I thought we were friends. I should have known it was just a ruse to get me to lower my defenses.”

 Fareeha laughed out loud at that, although like most of her expressions, it was relatively restrained. She wasn’t normally one for excessive banter, especially when she was trying to focus on an important task like winning at chess, but there was something in the way Angela spoke that just seemed to set her at ease. The doctor was always pleasant company, and just being around her never failed to lift Fareeha’s spirits.

“I do believe you are stalling,” she replied, nodding at the game board. “Come on. Do you accept your fate and bow to the superior player?”

 “I would hardly call a 3-2 record proof of superiority. The sample size is too small to negate any statistical fluctuations.”

“Oh really? Well, what about a 4-2 record then?” 

Angela ‘hmphed’ again, and Fareeha bit back another chuckle as the other woman’s face grew more and more despondent. However, just when it seemed like she was ready to tip her king in resignation, her eyes lit up.

“Ah, my silly Pharah. You should be more vigilant.” 

Deftly, Angela swooped down and captured the offending knight with her own. It was not a surprising move, but Fareeha failed to see how it changed anything. She could simply recapture with her second knight and force a checkmate the turn after.

“Don’t worry. I always get my prey,” she said, reaching out to retaliate. But, as she did, her eyes widened and her hand froze midair. Angela’s move had opened up a line of attack for her bishop, pinning Fareeha’s knight to her king and preventing the recapture. Glancing up, it was all she could do not to curse when she saw Angela just sitting there, smiling sweetly.

“What is that phrase you say?” the doctor said, before putting on her best and rather unconvincing imitation of Fareeha’s slightly deeper voice. “ _Leave this to a professional._ ”

“Telhas teeze,” Fareeha snapped, although in reality, she couldn’t remain annoyed for long when faced with that smile.

“I think I should be glad that I don’t know what that means,” Angela replied. “Anyway, now who is the one stalling?”

“Not stalling; strategizing.” Fareeha took a moment to assess the situation, glad that it provided an excuse to look away from Angela’s face and her disarming grin. The last thing she needed now was that kind of distraction. After a minute’s deliberation, she settled on a move that would help sure up her defences.

“Rook, c8. Check, again.”

Play progressed quickly after that, both women falling silent as they focused on the endgame. Although she had the upper hand in theory, Fareeha couldn’t get too comfortable in her position, constantly having to readjust to protect pieces threatened by Angela’s probing attacks. In spite of that, she was having some of the most fun she’d ever had out of any of their games. Being forced to adapt and change tactics on the fly was something she enjoyed the challenge of, and unlike in her usual line of work, here, her life wasn’t on the line if she made a bad call. The only thing she risked was embarrassing herself in front of Angela, which, she admitted, was only slightly less bad.

At last, the game concluded when Fareeha was able to perpetually check Angela long enough to advance a pawn to the back row and promote it to a queen. From there, it was a simple, if somewhat nerve-wracking, matter to finish the doctor off with a ladder checkmate using the queen and the rook.

“Well played,” Fareeha said, offering her hand. She tried not to sound overly pleased with herself, as it genuinely had been an extremely close match. After a moment, Angela took it, shaking firmly and honestly despite her pouty expression.

“You know, I used to think I was good at this game. Perhaps that belief needs reassessing,” she grumbled, glancing back at the board as if she could rescue herself from checkmate by force of will alone.

It took Fareeha a few seconds to process what she’d said. She was too distracted by the strange feeling left over in her hand where Angela had touched it. It was like a gentle warmth mixed with a slight tingling; a pleasant sensation, but one she couldn’t explain. Nor could she explain why her mind now lingered on how soft the other’s woman’s skin had felt beneath her own. It was not the kind of detail she normally noticed, but now, she was having difficulty perceiving anything else. 

 _Wait…did she say something?_  

“Ah, yeah,” Fareeha tried to buy time while her brain caught up with what was going on. She hoped her momentary lapse hadn’t been noticeable. “Don’t worry about it. You’re a great opponent, and you _have_ beaten me twice, remember? I’ve just had a lot of practice.” 

“Where does the security chief of an international paramilitary firm find the time to become so good?” Angela asked. There wasn’t any bitterness in her voice; it seemed like a genuinely curious enquiry. Fareeha wasn’t exactly sure how to process the compliment, as relatively minor as it was. Now, it was her turn to cast her eyes down to the table, glancing away bashfully as modesty overtook cockiness at the forefront of her feelings.

“ _Former_ security chief,” she corrected gently, before adding “and I didn’t start playing at Helix, although I admit, it was probably one of my main pastimes off duty. It…it was actually my mother that taught me, when I was pretty young.”

“Ana?” Angela’s voice softened. “That must have been nice. How’d that come about?”

Fareeha wondered how the topic had suddenly shifted to her personal history. It wasn’t something she usually liked discussing. In fact, she rarely liked talking about herself at all, past or present. But, like with many other things, Angela was an exception. Quite what that meant, if it meant anything at all, Fareeha didn’t know. All she knew was that she felt comfortable around Angela, and words that might have been difficult or unpleasant to speak to others felt natural when directed at her. 

“She played a lot herself in her youth. And when she got older, apparently it helped her pass the time and focus while she was waiting for her target. She said that she used to replay her favourite games in her mind, piece by piece, while she was lying there, staring down the scope. It sounded silly and boring to eight-year old me, but she was persistent in her efforts to teach me, and eventually I gave in. I…I’m glad I did. It was something we could do together when she was away on deployment, playing over the internet. It…made me feel closer to her. Plus, the only times she let me stay up past my bedtime were when we were in the middle of a particularly intense match.”

Fareeha looked up, chuckling slightly nervously, unsure what Angela was making of all of this.

“If you ever see a profile called QueenIsis33, with something like 6000 games played, well, uh…that’s me.” 

There was that smile again. It wasn’t uncommon to see Angela beaming brightly, but this felt even more…intense. Fareeha wasn’t sure her story warranted an expression of such joy, but she was torn between thinking it strange and not wanting it to stop. The feeling which had infused her hand earlier returned, this time spreading through her insides and churning around in the pit of her stomach. She wanted to continue her story, to say whatever was needed to keep Angela’s smile in place, but she felt suddenly shy about doing so.

_This is ridiculous. What’s wrong with me? She’s just being friendly._

“What a lovely story,” Angela said wistfully, unknowingly adding to Fareeha’s self-consciousness. “I’m sure she would be proud to see that her lessons didn’t go to waste.”

The warmth in Fareeha’s belly intensified. She hadn’t really thought about it before, but Angela was right. It was because of all that pestering and all those lessons that she still played the game to this day, and in so doing, it was like some small part of her mother lived on.

“I…” Fareeha was caught in the middle trying to express several different sentiments at once, but she couldn’t seem to find the right words for any of them. In the end, she settled for something she could say without going bright red. “Thank you. I’m just glad that I found someone else who enjoys it…even if she is a bit of a pushover.”

The playful jibe seemed to break the slightly reverent atmosphere that had settled over the pair. In the blink of an eye, it was back to business as usual.

“Watch it, _QueenIsis33_. Don’t think I’m going to let you rest on your laurels for long.”

Fareeha laughed, any melancholy she’d been feeling from thinking about her mother washing away as quickly as it had come. 

“Oh, I’m looking forward to it.”


	2. Ghosts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angela considers the current state of her relationship with Fareeha, and the two of them share a moment on an important mission.

**Watchpoint: Lyon**

**2 Months Ago- 2232 Hours**

Only once the door to her office had firmly slid shut behind her did Angela let her shoulders slump with exhaustion. She was surprised to find how weary and ready for bed she felt, when just an hour ago she’d have been more than happy for the night not to end. It had been a busy and frantic day, but she’d been determined not to disappoint Fareeha by cancelling their evening game. That had proven to be the right decision, as once they’d gotten started, all the tiredness had just seemed to melt away. Now that she was alone though, it was coming back in full force, and she could barely even muster the energy to go through her nightly routine. Bleary-eyed, she stumbled past her paper-strewn desk and flickering computer terminals, into her room.

Angela’s sleeping quarters were little more than an antechamber to her office. As one of the more senior members of the rapidly expanding Overwatch v2, she’d been offered some of the choicer accommodations, but she’d politely turned them down. She didn’t require a huge living space, and here she was able to jump between work and relaxation with ease. At least, that was the theory. What actually happened was that, with access to her research never more than a few steps away, she usually spent most evenings studying long into the night, until leaden eyelids forced her to reluctantly crawl into bed. In fact, aside from time spent with Fareeha, she could probably count the number of hours she’d used for personal pursuits in the last month on one hand. That realisation made Angela chuckle sardonically to herself, as she thought back to how many of her past professors had led a similar lifestyle.

_Wow, I’m getting old. Old and boring._

Maybe that was a bit unfair. She did enjoy her work after all, and there was no denying that it was useful for the team as well. If she was content and helping others, was there really any cause for complaint? Still, recently, it had felt like there was something missing. Perhaps it was the camaraderie of the old Overwatch. They’d taken on many new recruits recently, and it was bound to take time for everyone to settle comfortably with each other and find their niche. Until then, things wouldn’t quite have the same family feel that it had in the past. There were, of course, the returning members, but most of them were somehow…changed. Angela didn’t exclude herself from that assessment either. A lot had happened since the ‘golden age’. All of them had been forced to endure the realisation that the world had slowly turned against them, and many had suffered personal grief and injury since then as well. That too would take time; to heal, and learn to rely on each other once again, as they had done so well in the past.

But despite such thoughts bringing with them almost painful echoes of nostalgia, Angela knew that they weren’t the whole story. With so many talented individuals from every walk of life and corner of the world flocking to the cause, there was every reason to believe that Overwatch could once again be something great and unifying. So why did she still carry this uncomfortable hole in her heart? It was an emptiness that she hadn’t felt since the first Overwatch had torn itself apart, so why had it returned, especially now that the future was once again hopeful? 

With a tired sigh, Angela collapsed heavily onto her bed, bouncing slightly from the force of impact, before tugging open the top drawer of her nightstand. She knew the answer to that question, and it was in there. Reaching in, she rummaged around the back of the drawer, a safe place where no one would ever look, and withdrew her hidden prize. It gleamed in the soft light cast by her bedside lamp, although the surface of the object was slightly dulled from being handled every night for the past few weeks.

The trinket resembled a small metal rod, hollow down the middle, with a collection of traditional inscriptions and pictographic script on the outside. It was burnished gold in colour, although Angela could tell that it was actually made of a much more resilient material. The design was simple yet elegant, adhering to an almost utilitarian beauty that she found utterly captivating. In a way, it was a perfect representation of its owner.

Angela flushed slightly at that thought, despite being alone. She knew it was dishonest to hold onto the item without Fareeha’s knowledge. It was hardly any better than outright theft. In spite of that, she couldn’t bring herself to part with it, not to mention the fact that she would have difficulty explaining what she was doing with it after all this time. And it wasn’t like she’d _intended_ to steal it.

A few weeks ago, they’d been out in the field, neutralizing a rogue Omnic cell that had been attacking local villages. The mission had been a success, with no serious injuries sustained by any of the team, but the fighting had gotten pretty intense all the same. At one point, Pharah had caught a stray blast that almost knocked her out of the sky. Her armour had absorbed most of the impact, and prevented anything more serious than a few cuts and bruises, but the shockwave had sent the object Angela now held flying out of her hair and tumbling back to earth. It had landed straight at the medic’s feet, and as an almost immediate impulse, Mercy had retrieved and pocketed it for later. At the time, she hadn’t known if the item bore any personal significance for Fareeha, so she’d wanted to rescue it so she could give it back once the mission was done. But, as the fighting had picked up again, it had slipped her mind. It hadn’t been until a couple of days later that she’d remembered she had it, and by that point, Fareeha already appeared to have found a replacement. 

Even Angela herself could admit that it was a flimsy excuse. She should have taken it back the second she found it again, regardless of whether or not Fareeha had another. In fact, she should be returning it right now, but instead, she felt compelled to keep it. Not just keep it, but stare at it incessantly every evening. Even now, she was turning it over and over in her hands, sensing its weight and the grooves on its surface. The emotions it generated were a strange mixture of comfort and melancholy that Angela struggled to make sense of. There was no doubt that it was pretty, but that alone couldn’t account for her fascination with it. If it belonged to someone else, someone she didn’t know, she probably would not spare it more than a cursory glance. Therefore, the only logical conclusion was that, in reality, her interest lay with its owner. The piece of jewellery itself was just a catalyst that acted as a focal point for those feelings.

“Fareeha…” she murmured, mind wandering back to their game earlier that evening, and all the times they’d spent together before that. 

The Egyptian woman had caught her eye the second she arrived, although that probably had more to do with the manner of her arrival than anything else. It was difficult to miss someone when they came blazing out of the sky like an avenging angel, slowing their descent mere seconds before fatal impact to alight neatly on the helipad. Angela had watched in stunned silence from the window of her lab, not quite able to believe her eyes. She’d seen many wondrous things during her trips all over the planet, and she’d even heard of the newly-developed Raptora suit and what it was capable of, but witnessing the results first hand was another thing entirely. True, unrestrained, personal human flight was something mankind had dreamed of for as long as they’d existed, yet had never quite been able to achieve…until now. It was just a shame that such a miracle of engineering had to originate from desire for more lethal weapons of war.

But if Angela had thought that the Raptora suit would be the most stunning thing she’d see that day, then she’d been wrong. Several Overwatch reps had gone over to meet the person on the pad, who rumour had it was an ambassador for Helix Security International. After a few seconds of conversation, the figure had removed their helmet, and left Angela speechless for the second time in as many minutes. The woman beneath had been, and still was, one of the most striking people the doctor had ever seen. Even from her vantage point on the other side of the courtyard, Angela had found herself mesmerized by the newcomer’s every move, and had only stopped staring when she disappeared inside.

The memories made Angela smile to herself. Not much had changed since then. She still felt her heart flutter every time Fareeha entered the room, and still stole surreptitious glances whenever she thought the other woman wasn’t looking. Of course, the fact that Fareeha was now a fully-fledged member of Overwatch meant that she had ample opportunities to do so. To her delight, they had quickly become the best of friends, despite some differences in opinion about how best to help the people around them. Angela might not usually have agreed with Pharah’s militaristic approach to solving problems, but she couldn’t help but feel inspired by her unwavering commitment to justice and the protection of the innocent. The Egyptian woman radiated an aura of determination and bravery, yet at times, when she was completely at ease, the veil was lifted, revealing a softer, more sensitive side. Angela didn’t yet know the full depths of that gentler Fareeha, but she was determined to uncover more by coaxing her out of hiding at every possible opportunity.

Snapping out of her trip down memory lane, Angela realised that she’d gone through the motions of getting ready for bed without really noticing. Fareeha’s hair ornament was still clutched firmly in her hand; a comforting presence in what could otherwise be considered a lonely room. Angela hadn’t yet taken the time to decorate extensively, and it left her quarters feeling rather sparse and impersonal. It had seemed like it would be tempting fate to anticipate she would be here long enough to make it worthwhile. No matter how much she’d wanted it, she hadn’t been certain that this new incarnation of Overwatch would ever get off the ground. Now that it seemed that it really was back for good, it probably was about time that she started making it feel more like home.

_Having a certain someone to share this bed with would help with that…_

Angela blushed again, shocked at the uncharacteristically brazen turn her thoughts had taken. She must be more worn out than she’d realised, if her mind was willing to wander into _that_ territory. Not only was it unbecoming, it was also a painful reminder of the fact that she was totally unsure of how to proceed with Fareeha, beyond continuing to deepen their friendship. They had become very close these past months, but-…no, Angela refused to read anything more into it.

 _That’s it._ _I prescribe a healthy dose of sleep. And absolutely no naughty dreams. Doctor’s orders._

Sliding between the sheets, Angela was all set to hit the lights when she realised that she still hadn’t put her little talisman down. A part of her wanted to hang onto it even now, but she knew she’d never be able to rest properly with something that hard in the bed. Holding it up to the light, she looked at it one last time for that evening.

“Goodnight,” she whispered, pausing to place a loving kiss on its surface before putting it back in the drawer. She immediately felt silly for doing so, but somehow suspected that it wouldn’t be the last time.

_Oh scheisse. What am I going to do?_

* * *

**Blacksite: Cahors**

**2 weeks ago – 1110 Hours**

“Do you get the feeling that this could go tits up any second now?”

“…I beg your pardon?”

“I said, ‘Do you get the feeling that this could go tits up any second now’?”

“Yes, I heard what you said. What does it mean?”

“Which part?”

“Which part do you think?”

“I don’t know. You’ll have to tell me.”

“* _sigh_ *…fine. What is the meaning of the expression ‘tits up’?”

“Ha, I knew it!”

“Knew what?”

“That hearing you say the word ‘tits’ would be hilarious.”

“I’m glad that I can be so amusing, but you still haven’t answered my question.” Pharah glowered at her diminutive companion, although perhaps diminutive was not quite the right word, given that she towered over the Egyptian woman by a good couple of feet when fully suited up.

D.Va shrugged, or rather, her mech did.

“It means that things have gone to shit. Not really sure why. Usually tits being up is a sign it’s going well.” 

Pharah blinked a couple of times, before shaking her head and returning her attention to the complex in front of them.

“Forget I asked,” she muttered.

Across the river lay one of Overwatch’s old blacksites; covert bases that in the past had been used for top secret research and the development of prototype weapon systems. When the old Overwatch fell, many of the bases had been stripped bare and locked down to prevent the technology from falling into the wrong hands. However, from what 76 had said, some of the sites had been so ‘off the record’ that they’d managed to dodge the purge. Now, they were potential treasure troves for would-be insurrectionist groups and despotic governments. It was the job of the new Overwatch to reclaim these facilities and retrieve any sensitive information contained therein. They’d already successfully secured sites in the Ivory Coast and the UK; Cahors was next.

Except, this time, someone had beat them to it.

“So, just who are these Talon assholes anyway?” D.Va asked.

“Terrorists. Mercenaries.” Pharah couldn’t help but curl her lips in a snarl as she said it. “They’re a twisted mirror image of Overwatch. Everything we stand for, all the good we’ve done; they want to tear it all down. Throw the world back into anarchy. They were the ones behind the assassination of Mondatta. If they get their way, we’ll be right back to square one; humans and Omnics at each other’s throats all over again.” 

“So they’re the bad guys. Got it.”

Pharah snorted in agreement. She still hadn’t made up her mind about whether she found Hana quirky or intensely irritating. Were it not for the fact that Angela seemed fond of her, she’d probably have already settled on the latter.

_And talking about tits right before the start of combat operations isn’t helping her case._

“How many heat signatures are you seeing?” Pharah said, refocussing their attention on the task at hand.

“Five outside…no, wait, six. Looks like they’re on standard patrol.”

“Only six? I guess our intel was right. They’re not expecting us.”

Pharah quickly did a rundown of all her assets. Raptora systems were green across the board. Fuel tank was full. Ammo reserves were plentiful enough for a sustained firefight. It all checked out; they were good to go.

“Pharah here,” she radioed in, linking up with the team stationed on the far side of the base. “We’re reading six hostiles spread throughout the complex exterior. Waiting on your go to engage.” 

No sooner had she said the words than a huge explosion erupted from the fuel tanks in the north-east corner of the main courtyard. Smoke and debris were hurled in all directions as a huge fireball billowed into the air. The heat was intense enough to warm Fareeha’s face, even at this distance. In the wake of the shockwave she could hear panicked shouts and the beginnings of automatic weapons fire, as the Talon troops desperately searched for their attackers.

“There’s your greenlight,” came 76’s gruff tone through her earpiece. “Secure the courtyard. We’ve got you covered.”

“Copy all. Pharah, out.”

She turned to her companion, and was pleased to see that despite D.Va’s irreverent attitude moments earlier, a look of grim determination now occupied her face.

“We blasting them?” the Korean asked, her twin fusion cannons spinning up in preparation. Pharah nodded.

“We are, indeed, blasting them.”

* * *

The battle was short and decisive. D.Va leapt right into the fray, dropping into the middle of the mercenaries’ ranks and drawing all their attention to her. While they pumped rounds harmlessly into her defence matrix, it was a simple matter for Pharah to dispatch them from the air. She used the smoke from the earlier explosion as cover, firing off a few rockets then dodging into the sooty plumes to break her enemy’s line of sight. Four direct hits later, five of the Talon goons were down, and the last was dispatched by D.Va just as Pharah landed. She quickly swept the area, senses on high alert and searching for any targets that they’d missed in the initial engagement, but none emerged.

“All clear. The entrance is secure,” she reported.

No more than thirty seconds later, 76 and Mercy arrived, one shouldering his way through the rubble of the collapsed wall, the other gracefully gliding in and alighting primly in the middle of the carnage.

“They don’t make them like they used to,” 76 grunted, kicking over the body of one of the unlucky mercs as he approached.

“Then let us count ourselves lucky,” Mercy replied. She wore an expression that Fareeha was all too familiar with; like she’d just swallowed some vital but deeply unpleasant medicine.

“We sure did kick their asses. I don’t think I even got any scratches on the paintwork.” D.Va spun down her guns and lowered her mech into a crouch so she was at the same level as everyone else. “I don’t get it. Normally loot as good as this has some big, bad boss guarding it.” 

“Look at their gear,” 76 nodded to the nearest corpse. “Light armour. Survival packs. Long-range transmitters. This was some kind of scouting party.”

“You think there’ll be reinforcements?” Pharah asked. 

“Probably. Find a few rats and more are sure to follow. Which means we need to get the job done.” 76 gestured to the door behind them. “D.Va, you’re with me. Pharah, Mercy, keep watch. We’ll radio if we need backup.” 

Pharah tilted her head in acknowledgement, but deep down, she couldn’t help but feel a little amused. If Hana’s chirpiness grated on _her_ , she could only imagine how the stoic Soldier 76 would take it. She almost hoped there were more Talon agents inside, if only to spare the poor man from what was bound to be an awkwardly one-sided conversation.

76 punched in the old Overwatch access code, and he and D.Va disappeared deeper into the facility, the door sliding shut behind them with a resounding clang. As they went, Pharah tightened her grip on her rocket launcher, ears pricked for the tell-tale hum of dropship engines that would signal the approach of fresh Talon troops. She panned her eyes around the area once again, but was brought up short when her gaze fell on Mercy. The medic was regarding her with a curious expression that looked like she was trying very hard to contain her amusement, and was only partially succeeding.

“What?” Fareeha asked. That was apparently the wrong thing to say, because Angela took it as a cue to stop restraining herself, and burst out into full-bodied laughter. Fareeha momentarily felt her breath catch in her throat, as she was transfixed by the lyrical, carefree sound, and the look of delight on Angela’s face. However, the wonder was quickly crushed by self-consciousness, as she remembered that the other woman was laughing at her.

“What? What is it?” she asked again, wincing as it came out sounding more panicked than she’d intended. The thought of embarrassing herself in front of Angela was an ever-present fear, and now it seemed she’d somehow managed it without even realising.

“You’ve, uh, you’ve got a little something there,” Angela replied between chuckles, pointing to Fareeha’s chest. “And there, and there, and there, and, well, everywhere.” 

Fareeha quickly glanced down at herself, and finally realised what Angela was talking about. Her armour was caked in a fine layer of ash and grime from where she’d flown through the smoke cloud, turning it from shiny blue into a dull grey.

_Oh great. This is going to take hours to clean off._

It wasn’t as embarrassing as she’d feared, but Fareeha still struggled for something to say in reply.

“Is it on my face too?” she managed eventually. 

“Afraid so,” Angela said brightly, still snickering slightly to herself. “Here, I’ll get it. You’ll just make more of a mess with those bulky gloves.”

Before Fareeha could protest or ask what she meant, Angela had closed the distance between them. She reached out and steadied Fareeha’s head with one hand, and stuck the thumb of the other in her own mouth. Once it was wet, she ran it across Fareeha’s cheek, wiping away the dirt. She repeated the process several more times, cleaning her thumb on her body sleeve as she went.

Fareeha’s momentary response was to feel indignant at being coddled in such a way, but the second Angela had gently cupped her face to hold her head still, all thought of resisting had vanished from her mind. In fact, the whole world had receded into little more than background noise and colour. All she could sense with perfect clarity was the electrifying sensation of Angela’s thumb lightly caressing her cheek. She could feel the other woman’s inner warmth radiating from that point of contact, and could feel her own skin heating up in response. It took a conscious exertion of will to prevent herself from nuzzling into the touch, attempting to deepen that intoxicating connection. At the same time, she was also immensely grateful that her reflective visor hid her eyes from sight, because she was certain that right now, they were betraying everything she was feeling.

_Oh gods, get a grip, before she realises…_

“Dort, now you are presentable again,” Angela smiled, pulling back to admire her handiwork, although it was a couple more seconds before she finally removed her hands.

“T-Thanks,” Fareeha stammered back. Her face felt chill without the other woman’s touch…that must be why she was suddenly trembling.

“Anytime,” Angela’s grin did not leave her face, but she did retreat a few paces, allowing Pharah to finally think straight again. “Now, we must resume our vigil for the enemies. I do not think Jack would approve of our, oh, what is the word…’lollygagging’.”

Fareeha didn’t know what it meant, but after her talk with Hana earlier, she decided against asking. Besides, she didn’t trust herself to speak just yet; not without tripping over her own tongue at least. She turned away, glad that the fact they were on watch provided an excuse to conceal her raging blush.

 _Where are enemy reinforcements when you need them?_  

* * *

Angela sighed, and resisted the urge to check the mission clock yet again. She knew it would indicate that just thirty seconds had passed since the last time she’d looked at it, and that would only add to the feeling that time was dragging by at a snail’s pace. They’d been stood on guard for twenty long minutes, with only one transmission from 76, saying that they had only encountered minimal resistance, and were nearing the main control room. By now, the atmosphere was cloyingly tense, but it wasn’t the fear of enemy attack that was causing it. In fact, Angela almost welcomed the idea; anything to help break this awkward silence that had developed between her and Fareeha.

_What was I thinking? What possessed me to touch her like that? Dummer idiot._

It had been an instinctual act, and one she hadn’t properly considered until after it was done. Fareeha had just looked so cute, maintaining her stern, military bearing beneath a layer of soot. Angela hadn’t been able to resist fussing over her. But, looking back on it, it had been both highly inappropriate and almost insultingly patronising. She’d acted like Fareeha’s mother, which was definitely not the kind of signal she’d wanted to send. It was impossible to tell what Fareeha was thinking now, but the lack of conversation that normally flowed so readily between them indicated that she was probably uncomfortable at best, deeply offended at worst. Angela wanted to say something; apologise, if she could, but she couldn’t find any way to say it without making things more awkward. All she could think of doing was hoping that 76 and D.Va would be back soon, so they could forget this whole exchange had ever happened. She also prayed that her over-eagerness hadn’t just ruined any chance she had with Fareeha, if indeed she’d ever had any chance to begin with.

Just then, the radio crackled to life. Mercy had never been more glad to hear 76’s gravelly voice.

“Database secured. We’ve signalled for evac, and are en-route.”

“Acknowledged. We’ll be ready.”

_Thank god. Not long now._

Mercy turned her eyes skyward, searching for any sign of their approaching transport. All was still and quiet in the lazy warmth of midday. It was almost peaceful. Suddenly, however, something on top of the opposite building caught her attention. It was difficult to make out with the sun behind it, but it looked like…a silhouette of a robed figure?

“Pharah, on the roof!” Mercy shouted, both embarrassment and tranquillity immediately forgotten as survival instinct kicked in.

“Get down!” The other woman’s jump jets were already igniting, throwing up clouds of dust from the dry earth. Like a graceful jungle predator, she leapt the height of the structure in a single bound, mantling over the edge with gun raised. The lithe way she moved was as mesmerising as ever, but Mercy didn’t have time to admire it, as she dove for cover behind a nearby wall. Clutching her staff, she steeled herself for the sound of rocket fire that would surely be erupting any second now, and prepared to dart back out if Pharah needed assistance.

But nothing came.

_What?_

Mercy waited for several long, heart-pounding seconds, before risking a peek out. Her eyes darted along the rooftop, but there was nothing there. No figure, no explosions, and for a moment, no Pharah. Then, she spotted the other woman, descending back down to the ground with a lot less urgency than when she’d ascended.

“What happened? Are you hurt?” Mercy could tell that she wasn’t, but both her professional role and her personal feelings required that she ask anyway.

“I’m fine,” Pharah said, emphasising her statement with a thumbs up. “I’m not sure what you saw, but there’s no one up there. Roof’s completely deserted.”

“Really? I could have sworn…” Mercy tried to conjure up the image of what she’d seen. It had definitely looked like a figure, framed against the backdrop of golden sunbeams, but…now she wasn’t so sure anymore. Only half a minute had passed since then, but already, she was having difficulty remembering the shape and size of the silhouette. Maybe she had just imagined it? Or had it been a trick of the light? It wouldn’t be that surprising, given how tense she’d felt.

“I…I thought there was something, but maybe…” Mercy shuffled her feet sheepishly as Pharah approached. “It must have been nothing. I’m sorry for alarming you.”

“It’s okay,” Pharah said earnestly, and Mercy was delighted to see that a smile was slowly returning to the other woman’s face. “Better safe than sorry. If there had been someone, your quick reflexes would have saved both our lives.”

_Ach je. Is this how Fareeha feels when I compliment her? When did it suddenly get so hot?_

Angela was feeling awkward again, but this time for an entirely different reason. Fortunately, she was spared from having to endure it for long by the timely return of D.Va and 76. The soldier looked between her and Fareeha as he drew closer, and even though Angela could not see his eyes, she could tell that he was taking note of every little detail. No doubt their flushed skin and heavier-than-average breathing revealed the fact that they had been exerting themselves just a moment ago.

“What happened here?” 76 asked, right on cue.

_Don’t say anything Fareeha._

“Mercy saw a ghost,” the Egyptian woman replied very matter-of-factly, as if she was giving any other normal report. However, the grin she flashed in Angela’s direction indicated that she knew exactly what she was doing.

_Ooh, I’ll get you for that._

76 took a moment to process what she’d said, then grunted.

“It’s more common than you’d think.”


	3. Kindred Spirits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the present, a heartbroken Fareeha is visited by an unlikely friend, while in the past, an emergency meeting is called.

**Watchpoint: Gibraltar**

**Present Day – 1952 Hours**

Two hours.

Two hours, and still no word.

For Fareeha, all that time had been spent alternating between fretfully pacing around her minimal floor space, and sprawling on her bed with barely enough energy to wipe the sweat and tears from her face. Her only breaks from this cycle had been several detours to the bathroom where, despite her best efforts, she’d vomited up her lunch, what was left of her breakfast, and what felt like most of her stomach acid. The last trip had been little more than dry heaving, and it had been difficult to tell where the retching ended and the sobbing began. Now, even her tears had been exhausted, although that didn’t stop her body from going through the motions of attempting to cry. 

Although these past few hours had been torture, she knew that it could still be many more yet before she heard anything. She had once seen an emergency operation last almost two days, on a soldier who’d suffered third-degree burns to sixty-five percent of his body. Nearly two million dollars’ worth of medical equipment, a thirty-strong medical team, and forty-five hours of intense labour, all for one patient.

And he hadn’t made it.

Fareeha _wanted_ to believe that Angela’s injuries were less severe, but truthfully, she couldn’t say. All she could do was take some solace in the possibility that the lack of any news so far was a good sign. It meant that there was hope; that there was _something_ that could and was being done, other than simply trying to ease Angela’s pain.

Rest was what Fareeha really required. She didn’t need to be a doctor herself to recognise that fact. In the past week, she’d had less than twenty hours of sleep, and none of it good. During that time, she’d been running on pure adrenaline and determination. Gods only knew what was keeping her going at this very moment. Yet if sleep had been difficult then, now it was practically impossible. Every time she closed her eyes, even for a second, she was transported back to that room, and confronted by the horror that lay within. She could see it as clearly as the walls of her quarters; Angela’s bruised, broken, and bloodied body, clad in the soiled tatters of her Valkyrie suit, ruined almost beyond recognition. There was no escaping it.

_Ya hasrety. Angela…I’m so sorry for what they did to you._

Fareeha remembered how, throughout all the fighting, the other woman had barely stirred at all. She’d just hung there limply, weight supported entirely by her chains…as if every spark of life and vitality had simply been torn out. What exactly those monsters had put her through, Fareeha didn’t know, and couldn’t bear to speculate on. The implements on the table nearby had given her a pretty good idea, however.

The image was enough to make her sick once again.

More out of habit than actual need, Fareeha wearily clawed her way off her bed, and half-stumbled, half-crawled to the toilet. She made it just in time, before a stabbing ache in her abdomen signalled the arrival of more painful contractions, strong enough to make her whole body tremble violently. It felt like her stomach was trying to force its way out through her mouth, but no matter how much she gagged and spluttered, there was nothing left in her to expel. All she had to show for her trouble was a caustic burning sensation in the back of her throat, and a foul, acrid taste on her tongue. She couldn’t even wash it away, because any liquid she tried drinking would immediately come back up.

It took several minutes for the convulsions to subside, but Fareeha remained huddled over the bowl, clinging to it for support. She could see her face reflected in the water below; the bloodshot eye of Horus staring back at her accusingly. The symbol of protection...it was like a cruel joke. How could she justify carrying that mark when she couldn’t even protect the person dearest to her? She didn’t deserve it.

_I don’t deserve anything. Especially not Angela…_

After a while, Fareeha’s grip on the toilet bowl lessened, and she allowed gravity and exhaustion to dump her on the floor. It was as good a place as any, and she was barely aware of the discomfort of the hard tiles over the thoughts and emotions swirling inside her head. She had no end of regrets, and the more she dwelled on the past, the longer the list got. There had been so many missed opportunities; chances for her to let Angela see even a fraction of how she really felt, but hadn’t for reasons that seemed laughably trivial now. She’d kept telling herself that they had time, that she should be patient and let things develop naturally, that there was no rush because neither of them were going anywhere. Looking back, she couldn’t believe how incredibly naïve she’d been. In their line of work, she should have known better.

Now those opportunities, and the possible future that came with them, were surely gone. Even if Angela recovered, Fareeha couldn’t imagine she’d ever be able to look her in the eye again.

_I failed her in every way possible. All her suffering is because of **my** mistakes._

A soft knock on the door suddenly broke Fareeha out of her self-destructive thoughts. Initially she couldn’t piece together what the noise was, but then it came again, still gentle but more insistent.

_Naiek. Don’t they realise I want to be left alone?_

Fareeha thought her actions had made that perfectly clear. Apparently she’d been mistaken, but in her weakened state, she couldn’t really find the will to be angry either. With any luck, whoever was there would see what a mess she was, and get the hint. 

“Yes, yes, I’m coming,” she snapped as more knocks came. Sluggishly, she lumbered over to the door, leaning heavily on the open button to take some weight off her aching legs. 

She hadn’t paused to consider who exactly might be on the other side, but that didn’t stop it from being a surprise. Rather than being greeted by an expression of meretricious sympathy, or even a look of shock at how wretched she must appear, she instead came face to face with an utterly blank, emotionless slate. 

The off-white bone of Genji’s visor regarded her neutrally, betraying absolutely nothing.

“Miss Amari,” he greeted, voice modulating slightly as whatever software he used to process his speech adapted to the acoustics of the cramped corridor. “Would you grant me the honour of your company?”

Fareeha was momentarily at a loss for what to say. Even including missions, she could count on one hand the number of times she and the elusive cyborg had spoken. Genji tended to keep to himself, so the fact that he was now seeking her out, and at a time like this…she couldn’t understand it.

Nevertheless, she was serious about her desire for solitude.

“I think I’d rather be alone right now,” she replied, hoping that would be the end of it.

“In my experience, that is precisely when people should not be,” Genji countered. Fareeha couldn’t tell where he was looking, but she got the impression he was staring right through her. Ordinarily, her natural willpower and stubbornness would be more than a match for his impassive gaze, and she’d have stood her ground as long as was necessary to get her way. Right now though, she withered before the scrutiny, and was unable to maintain the impetus to turn him away.

_Oh hell, if he came here, he must have a good reason. Maybe a distraction will help._

“Fine,” she conceded, stepping out of the doorway to let him through. “But make it quick.”

* * *

**Watchpoint: Lyon**

**1 Week Ago - 1441 Hours**  

The moment Fareeha had been both dreading and anticipating in equal measure was finally here. She’d tried to steel herself, but she didn’t know if it would be enough. Jitters were already forming in the pit of her stomach, and she was grateful that she’d mostly be expected to sit, because her legs felt uncharacteristically weak.

_Deep breaths. Remember your training and you’ll do fine._

“The doctor will see you now,” came the voice from behind the door.

_Oh gods. Just try to not be a total ’ahmaq._

Fareeha took one last, steadying breath before entering the medbay. Given the time, it was surprisingly empty and dimly lit, and it took her a moment to locate Angela. She was already positioned by one of the few beds that was still illuminated, gloves on and clipboard in hand. Catching sight of Fareeha, she looked up from her notes, and her face visibly brightened. 

“Ah, good. I wasn’t sure you’d actually show up. But here you are, and right on time too. Please, take a seat.”

Fareeha could feel the butterflies in her stomach intensify under Angela’s kind gaze, but she was determined not to let it show. She still cringed when she remembered how she’d let herself turn to putty that time the other woman had cleaned her face. Any more slip ups like that, and she risked being outed in a very embarrassing manner.

“Have I ever missed an appointment?” Fareeha asked teasingly, hoping that diving headfirst into conversation would help with getting over her awkwardness. “I like to think I’m a model patient.”

“Quite true,” Angela replied brightly. “You are definitely the most well-behaved soldier I’ve encountered. Most of them do so like to brush us doctors off when it comes to physicals.”

“Yeah, well, most soldiers don’t have Helix breathing down their neck.”

Angela made a face.

“Yes…Helix. They have been quite, ah…specific in their requests for punctual and precise data.”

Fareeha chuckled inwardly. She could only imagine how the conversation between Helix’s medical team and Angela had gone. She got the feeling the other woman definitely didn’t like people telling her what she should and shouldn’t be doing in _her_ lab, and if they’d gone so far as to question her efficiency…well, no doubt they’d received quite the dressing down.

“They want me to check for any early signs of muscle strain or internal trauma that could be caused by prolonged usage of the Raptora suit.” Angela sighed dramatically. “I told them that I’d already run my own checks, and that there was no way I’d be letting you out in that thing if I thought it might injure you, but they remained insistent. So for now, it looks like we are obliged to continue these appointments.”

“Believe me, I’m not exactly thrilled about it either,” Fareeha replied, jumping up to perch on the edge of the bed. That wasn’t strictly true; anything that provided an excuse to spend more time with Angela was a plus in Fareeha’s book. She just wished that the circumstances were a little less…potentially compromising.

“Still, it was part of the conditions for my transfer to Overwatch,” she continued. “The way I see it, for that, no price is too high.”

Angela’s eyes flicked up again, and her smile widened.

“I guess it’s a price that I’m willing to pay as well, if it means we get to keep you.”

Fareeha tried not to infer anything from that comment, but she could feel her carefully constructed composure slip slightly. The threat of a blush made itself known as a tingling warmth at the base of her neck, and, desperately, she tried to move the conversation along.

“So, uh, are there any unorthodox tests on the agenda I should be worried about?”

Angela paused, her expression suddenly turning serious.

“Hmm, there was _one_ …” she said, turning her attention to the table at one end of the bed, where a series of medical instruments had been neatly laid out. “They gave me this probe and asked me to take some comprehensive measurements. I hope you don’t mind.” 

She spun around again, clasping a smooth metal rod in both hands. It was just over a foot long, an inch and a half thick, and covered in contoured ribbing. Fareeha blanched at the sight, eyes widening in shock and not an insignificant amount of fear. She’d been told it was just meant to be a routine check-up and hadn’t been expecting anything like _this_ at all.

_That better not be going where I think it’s going…_

“P-Probe?” she stammered out loud, unable to look away from the horrifying device. 

Angela nodded, but it only took a few seconds for her outwardly sober expression to crack. It was replaced by a burble of lyrical laughter, although it took Fareeha a moment to realise just what was so funny.

“Amazing, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so pale,” Angela managed between giggles. “Don’t worry, it’s just a massage wand for physiotherapy. Nothing to do with you. I forgot to put it away earlier.”

“You…ibn el sharmouta! Kol khara,” Fareeha hissed, exhaling in both relief and frustration. “You treat all your patients like this? No wonder they don’t want to come, if this is what you call bedside manner.”

“I’ve had no complaints so far,” Angela replied. By now, she was leaning on the bed for support as she got her breath back.

“Then your subjects must be much better behaved than you give them credit for.”

Angela burst out laughing again, and in spite of herself, Fareeha felt a little proud that this time she’d intentionally been the cause. In all honesty, seeing Angela smiling and happy was always a pleasure for her, even if she herself was the butt of the joke. Not that she’d ever admit that to the other woman.

“Come now. If we keep this up, we’ll never even begin, much less finish,” Angela said, in a half-hearted effort to get them back on track. 

“Okay, okay, go ahea-“

Fareeha’s response was abruptly cut off by a shrill whine, as the base-wide intercom switched on. Stopping in their tracks, both her and Angela looked up in unison and were greeted by the bass tones of Winston.

“All agents, please report to the ops center immediately. This is a, uh, priority five…wait, no, six! I meant six. A priority _six_ alert. I say again; all Overwatch agents, please report to the ops center immediately. Um…thank you. Winston out.”

Fareeha glanced back down at Angela, who quirked her right eyebrow with wry amusement.

“I think I might have jinxed us,” she said. “Oh well, another time I guess. Let’s see what the big guy wants.”

* * *

The operations center was already pretty crowded by the time Angela and Fareeha arrived. Having never been intended as much more than an outpost, Watchpoint Lyon wasn’t the best equipped base to deal with the large influx of members they’d experienced in the past months, and it showed in how jam-packed the room was. Carefully, they squeezed through the congregation, making their way towards the center where Winston and Soldier 76 were hunched over a holographic map table. The two of them were deep in conversation, pausing only to listen to the occasional interjection from one of the assembled group. Angela couldn’t help but smile at the sight. It was nice to see Jack back in his element, and despite what he’d say if questioned on the topic, she felt certain that the restoration of Overwatch was just about the best thing that could have happened to him.

Since the recall, there had been some ambiguity as to who exactly was leading the reformed organisation. As the one who had sent the signal and hosted the first returning agents at Gibraltar, the role had initially fallen to Winston by default. It was a position he’d accepted out of necessity, and although he’d taken to it rather well, in Angela’s opinion, he’d always said that he considered himself little more than a caretaker. When 76 arrived, and his true identity as Jack Morrison was revealed, everyone had assumed that he’d reprise his old title. Certainly, he didn’t seem surprised when people turned to him for leadership, but in-spite of that, he’d made no official request to take over from Winston. For the time being, therefore, the two of then shared the responsibility, with 76 focussing on military operations and Winston on logistics and the training of new agents. It was an arrangement that clearly could not last indefinitely, at least, not without being formalised, but it worked well enough for now.

Secretly, Angela hoped that if some kind of council-based leadership was the future of Overwatch 2.0, that Fareeha would get a place. Not only had she inherited all the Amari pedigree that had made her mother such a strong pillar of the organisation, she was also a remarkable woman in her own right. She reminded Angela of how Jack had been at the start; an uncompromising, incorruptible paragon. Virtue clung to her as tightly as her armour, and Angela couldn’t think of anyone that could pry it off without first breaking themselves.

_Oh dear, I’m gushing. Focus, Angela._

They finally reached the front of the crowd and drew the attention of Winston, who looked up from what appeared to be a list of names.

“Ah, good, I think that’s everyone,” he rumbled, before raising his voice to address the room as a whole. “Okay, let’s get started. I’m sure you’re all wondering why you’ve been gathered here. Well, some of you already know, but for those who don’t, I’ll let Commander Morrison explain.” 

76 nodded. He was quite the impressive, enigmatic figure, face hidden behind mask and visor. The reason why he wore it almost all the time, even indoors, was a topic of hot debate in certain circles around the base, and Angela had heard all kinds of wild theories. She personally kept her mouth shut about the matter. Somehow, she got the feeling Jack might not be best pleased with her revealing the fact that it was to compensate for his long-sightedness.

“Winston and Athena have been combing the data we extracted from Blacksite: Cahors,” he said, gesturing to the great ape. “And what they found was worth every rat we had to kill to get it. Talon screwed up. When they hooked up to the mainframe, they left a backdoor into their own system. We were able to pull a few files. Winston tells me it’s mostly junk, but buried deep, we found this…”

He tapped a button, and the list Winston had been looking at earlier transferred to the table; projected upright and slowly rotating so everyone could see it.

“Hugo Christophe…Clara DeMont…Jean Philippe…what exactly are we looking at?” Jesse McCree leaned forward in his chair, squinting at the names. “Oh, and apologies for butchering the pronunciation.” 

“The names are GIGN, French special forces,” 76 replied. “But the list is a Talon prisoner manifest. All of these soldiers were members of a squad conducting covert anti-terrorism operations in the Pyrenees Badlands. They went MIA three months ago, and were presumed dead, but it looks like Talon got their claws on them.” 

“So we’re going to rescue them, right?” Lena Oxton chipped in.

“Yes…if you let me finish,” 76 said gruffly, causing Tracer to sheepishly sit back down. “The manifest lists the holding area as an apartment block in the abandoned town of Tarbes, just this side of the Spanish border. It also says that the prisoners are being transferred…tomorrow. We have no leads on where they’re being extracted to, so either we get them now, or not at all.”

“Hands up for the ‘get them now’ option,” McCree said. Unsurprisingly, the whole room agreed.

“I knew we could count on you all.” Winston smiled proudly, “But Jack…er, Commander Morrison says we need to keep the team small and mobile, and I agree. If they see us coming, who knows what they’ll do to the hostages.”

“We’ll have to cut off all routes of escape,” 76 added. “Pharah, you’ll be in the air. Mercy, you’ll be on hand in case any of the prisoners need patching up. McCree and Genji will cover the ground entrances while I provide overwatch from the transport. Team two…”

Angela could feel her mind wandering now that her role had been established. There was only so much military strategy she could listen to before it all turned to white noise, and she knew that all the relevant details would be spelled out explicitly in the briefing dossier. Instead, her attention strayed to the woman by her side, and she felt the corners of her mouth quirk up when she saw how serious and attentive Fareeha’s expression was. The Egyptian was a soldier through and through, and she could give Jack a run for his money when it came to stoicism. It was probably why Angela took such perverse delight in teasing her; to try and see what it took to crack that stern façade. That, and the fact that jokes provided a good smokescreen to hide the nerves that always seemed to creep up on her when Fareeha was around. 

She thought back to their earlier appointment that had been interrupted. It was something she’d been apprehensive about for some time, and not because of Helix’s incessant pestering. Angela knew how to deal with them, but she wasn’t so confident in her ability to deal with her own emotions. Every time her and Fareeha were alone together, it took a surprising amount of effort just to remember how to act like a normal, functioning human being. She was always second guessing every word that came out of her own mouth, and always over-analysing everything Fareeha said or did. It was frankly a miracle that the other woman hadn’t noticed her erratic behaviour. 

_Unless she has and she’s too polite to say anything. Or maybe she thinks that is how I always behave and she sees me as some kind of neurotic. Or perhaps…ah, fick willen, there I go again._

Now, Angela was constantly torn between jumping at any opportunity to be in Fareeha’s company, and being nervous and tongue-tied the entire time she was. It was even the case in professional settings like the upcoming mission, although at least that wouldn’t be quite as…intimate, as a physical exam.

_God, I’ve got to get it together. Being this distracted could get someone hurt, or worse._

She just had to focus on the task at hand. It was a straightforward operation; get in, get the hostages, get out. There would probably be people requiring medical attention, and as much as she hoped there would be no serious injuries, at least they were something she knew how to handle; something she had some control over. 

_Yes, a nice, simple mission should help clear my head. What could go wrong?_

* * *

**Watchpoint: Gibraltar**

**Present Day – 2004 Hours**

“So, what do you want?” Fareeha asked, sitting down heavily on the floor with her back against the wall. She could feel a headache coming on, probably from a combination of dehydration and the prospect of having to try and negotiate a conversation in her present state.

“To talk,” Genji replied. He remained standing, and it occurred to Fareeha that his robot body probably didn’t experience fatigue.

“Well…I’m listening.” 

“Are you?” Genji sighed, a sound not dissimilar to static. “Your ears may be in this room, but your mind…that is in the operating theatre, I think. With her.”

_Oh gods, the last thing I need right now is some cryptic bullshit._

“Is that a fact?” Fareeha replied sarcastically. “Tell me, when did you become an expert on what I’m thinking? You barely even know me.”

If Genji was perturbed by her aggressive tone, it didn’t show.

“You are correct, but I know myself. My thoughts are there as well,” he said, and for the first time, Fareeha thought she could detect a trace of emotion in his voice. “You are not the only one who loves her.”

Fareeha paled, a gasp of surprise escaping before she could stop it. His words struck her like a one-two punch; first the realisation that someone else was aware of her most closely-guarded secret, and then the idea that she had very real, very present competition.

“H-how did you…?” she managed to garble out, not sure whether she should be feeling humiliation or rage. Genji held his hands up in a gesture of peace.

“After this week, I don’t think a single person remains oblivious to how you feel about her. But do not be ashamed. Your dedication and relentlessness inspired everyone, and kept them going when they might otherwise have faltered. Without your love, Dr. Ziegler would still be lost to us.”

At last, Genji sat, lowering himself into a cross-legged position opposite Fareeha.

“Do not mistake my intentions, Miss Amari. My feelings for Dr. Ziegler are not yours. I owe her my life, body and soul. For that, she has my eternal love and gratitude. But I do not seek anything more.”

The confusing mess of panic, fear, and anger that had welled in Fareeha’s breast slowly dissipated, and she felt her insides unwind themselves from the knot they’d tied themselves in. In a way, it was reassuring that her reaction was so strong. At least she knew now that she was still capable of emotions other than despair.

“I’m…glad to hear it,” she replied, realising that after her outburst it was pointless attempting to deny what he’d said. “Why are you telling me this though?” 

“Because it is true. Because I thought hearing it might help.” Genji looked down at the floor. “We are bound together in our grief. Why suffer in solitude when the burden can be lightened by sharing?”

Fareeha remained silent for a few moments, pondering the meaning of Genji’s words. There was truth in them, that was undeniable, but they still provided little comfort.

“I don’t think I want my burden lightened,” she said quietly.

“Why do you say that?”

“Because…b-because…” Fareeha faltered. She knew the reason. She’d thought of nothing else since Angela’s return. But somehow voicing it out loud made it seem more real; more definite. There was a big difference between admitting it to herself and admitting it to someone else. Fareeha could feel her lips trembling, and when she next spoke, it was little more than a weak whisper. 

“Because I did this. I couldn’t stop them taking her, and now s-she…I deserve to feel this way.”

Genji turned to face her, but she couldn’t meet his gaze. She thought she’d long since run out of tears, but apparently she’d been wrong, because she could now sense fresh ones brimming along her lower lids, blurring her vision. Instinctively, she clenched her hand into a fist, trying to stop them from falling. It was a reflex many years in the making, rooted in a desire to never show weakness or vulnerability. But what good was it now? Her weakness was plain as day, tears or no tears.

“You are wrong,” Genji stated. 

“W-what?” Fareeha hadn’t expected such a blunt response, and it momentarily threw her off.

“You are wrong,” the cyborg repeated. “The blame is not yours. Did you set the trap? Did you pull the trigger? Did you beat her, or cut her, or burn her? Talon did these things, not you.”

“Well, y-yeah, but...I was there. They took her, right in front of me, and I…I didn’t’ stop them. I should have fought harder.”

“If you could transform one fish into ten thousand, you could solve all starvation. If you could cleanse infection with your touch, you could cure all disease. If you could convince the most bitter of rivals to lay down their weapons with but a word, you could prevent all war. The fact that you cannot do these things does not make all the suffering in the world your fault.” 

Genji reached out, resting a hand on Fareeha’s shoulder. She flinched reflexively, expecting cool metal, but was surprised to find that his touch was warm and textured, not unlike any other human’s.

“Of all the weapons at a warrior’s disposal, love is perhaps the greatest,” Genji continued. “It drives us to push beyond our limits. To protect those dear to us, we fight harder, strike faster, and where necessary, even risk our own lives. You did everything in your power to protect Dr. Ziegler, and it was you who single-handedly braved the dragon’s nest to rescue her. She could not ask for a better guardian, and I know she would not want you to blame yourself for what happened.” 

Fareeha opened her mouth to respond, but nothing came out. She tried again, and this time managed to produce a dry croak, but was otherwise silent. Inside, her mind raced, trying and failing to think of a rebuttal. She was guilty, she knew it right down to her core, so why did Genji make so much sense? There had to be something he was overlooking.

_It’s all my fault. It’s all my fault. It...it has to be, doesn’t it?_

Her mind spun round and round in circles, struggling to resolve the dissonance, until eventually, something just snapped. The tears Fareeha had been holding at bay finally broke free, spilling over and burning hot trails down her cheeks. Before she knew what was happening, she’d collapsed onto Genji’s shoulder, sobbing uncontrollably.

The cyborg just held her.


	4. Mamihlapinatapai

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pharah and Mercy are part of a small strike team, urgently dispatched to rescue hostages from Talon's clutches. Awkwardness and unspoken feelings abound.

**French Airspace**

**1 Week Ago - 1637 Hours**

“Ten minutes to target. Begin final equipment checks.”

Pharah spun the clip of her rocket launcher with her thumb, feeling for any signs of catching or wear. Even the smallest amount of sticking could lead to a weapon jam at a crucial moment, or worse, cause a misaligned rocket to detonate prematurely in the firing chamber. Needless to say, that would be bad; not just for her, but also for anyone in a two metre radius. 

Although there was no such as thing as being too careful, even someone as meticulous as her knew it wasn’t really necessary. She’d checked the magazine twice already, not to mention the fact that she’d oiled it less than an hour earlier. Unsurprisingly, it was still fine, as were her fuel levels, hydraulic pressure, and aileron servos. But going over all her gear for a third time kept her occupied, and provided an excuse for not making small talk.

In spite of that, she still risked a brief glance up, under the guise of checking the ETA. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a brief glimpse of movement, and she swore she saw Angela avert her gaze just as quickly. She couldn’t be sure however, as the doctor now seemed to be thoroughly occupied with calibrating her staff. The same staff she’d been obsessively fiddling with every time Fareeha had looked her way in the past half hour.

_Must be a delicate piece of equipment. I’m surprised it’s suitable for battlefield use._

Fareeha sighed, but only internally so as not to draw attention. This awkward silence was killing her. It wasn’t that she didn’t _want_ to talk to Angela. She really, _really_ did. When they’d entered the transport, she’d been pleased to see the other woman sit directly across from her without a second thought, despite the fact that almost every other seat had been free at that point. They’d exchanged warm greetings, but then…nothing. Compared to Jesse, who even now was talking Genji’s ear off, Fareeha had been silent as the grave. She’d rewarded Angela’s eagerness for her company by ignoring her completely; or at least, that’s how it must seem.

_Some friend I am._

But therein lay the problem. The word ‘friend’ didn’t really seem sufficient anymore - not from her point of view anyway - but she had no clue what to replace it with. ‘Close friend’? ‘Best friend’? ‘Girl friend’? None of them fit as well as she’d like. All she knew was that whatever they were now, it made conversing with Angela much more difficult. Whereas before she’d just spoken her mind with no hesitation, now Fareeha found herself constantly worrying that she was being boring, or that they’d run out of things to talk about, or that she’d say something that would be misinterpreted as weird or inappropriate. It was stupid, really. Angela’s behaviour hadn’t changed at all, so why had her own?

_I think you know the answer to that._

“Penny for your thoughts?”

_Huh, did someone speak? Wait…she did…crap!_

“W-what?” Fareeha zoned back into the real word just in time to hear Angela repeat her question, and immediately got distracted again by her expression.

 _Ya lahwy, why does she have to smile like that all the time? How am I meant to think straight?!_  

“I…er…penny?”

 _Oh_ g _reat. Real smooth._

“Just a saying,” Angela chuckled. “It means ‘what are you thinking’? You looked like you were a million miles away just now.”

“Oh, yeah.” Fareeha laughed as well, although hers was more nervous than jolly. “I guess I did space out a bit. I-I was just focussing on the mission.”

“Hmm?” Angela didn’t seem entirely convinced, which was hardly surprising. Even Fareeha herself could admit it sounded weak. What was she meant to say though? ‘I can’t get you out of my head and it’s driving me crazy’? Yeah, there was no way that was happening.

Although being caught daydreaming was embarrassing, Fareeha was glad that one of them had taken the initiative and spoken up. Maintaining a conversation was easier than starting one, so it was important not to waste this opportunity.

“Are you good to go?” she asked. It felt like a painfully banal question compared to those swirling around in her head, but at least it kept things flowing. 

“I think so. To be honest, I was ready as soon as we got on the transport. But I always see you military types fiddling with your guns and armour. I wanted to fit in.”

Fareeha gave an amused snort, shaking her head. She couldn’t remember ever meeting someone as carefree as Angela, though she suspected that the other woman played it up sometimes just to make fun of her. Still, it was odd that someone who had undoubtedly seen more death and suffering than anyone else in the room could still be the most light-hearted one of the group. Maybe pathological optimism was necessary in Angela’s line of work.

“That ‘fiddling’ could very well save both our lives,” Fareeha said, emphasising her point with another spin of the magazine. “Trust me, the last thing you want is for this to misfire. I know you’re a miracle worker, but I don’t think even you could piece us back together after that.”

“I could give it a shot,” Angela said. “Probably best avoided though. I might lose track of which bits belonged to whom.”

Comparing the almost alabaster fairness of Angela’s skin to the coffee colour of her own, Fareeha somehow doubted that. But it did give her a change to segue into a question she’d had on her mind for some time now. 

“Now that you mention it, I’ve always wondered how that works,” she said, gesturing to the staff.

“This?” Angela thumbed a button, and the head of the device lit up. “Would you like the long version or the short version?”

“Whichever one doesn’t require PhDs in bioengineering and applied mathematics to understand.”

“Bioengineering and nanophysics actually, although the second one is mostly honorary,” Angela replied with a wry smile. “Okay. You’re familiar with DNA, yes? It’s the blueprint for your body contained in every one of your cells. The first thing the Caduceus Staff does when the beam makes contact is sample the patient’s DNA, so it knows what they _should_ be like when healthy. That makes it easy to locate the injury. The next step is to deliver nanobots to the target area to stimulate stem cell growth. Stem cells are basically blank slates that can differentiate into many different kinds of tissue. Finally, the nanobots arrange these stem cells into whatever configuration is necessary to repair the wound. This is similar to how the body heals naturally, but the process is dramatically accelerated.”

“I think I get it. So, in theory, the staff could regrow entire limbs even?” 

“Yes, but it would not be advisable. When fabricating new cells, the further you get from the source tissue - that is, the person’s actual body - and the more complex the structure, the greater the risk of errors. This sacrifice in precision was necessary in order to condense the technology enough to make it portable. The staff could replace someone’s missing leg, but it would likely be deformed or lacking vital parts such as tendons or bones in the foot. In the worst case, it could even create problems at the cellular level, such as cancers or endocrinitis. Don’t worry though; for normal injuries, the chances of such a thing happening are infinitesimal. When it comes to more serious trauma, a better approach would be… oh dear, I’m babbling, aren’t I?” 

“What? No, not at all. Honestly, I find it fascinating.” In fact, Fareeha had been mesmerised. The topic _was_ surprisingly interesting, and although she was certain that the doctor was giving her a very simplified version, she felt quite pleased with herself for being able to follow even this much of the science. More than that, though, it was simply an utter joy to watch an excitable Angela talk at length on a subject she was passionate about. The speed of her speech increased and her whole body became animated, as if she was barely able to keep up with her eagerness to share her knowledge. And her smile, which was always quick to appear in any situation, now stretched almost ear-to-ear. Fareeha didn’t want it to stop.

“So, you were the one that discovered all the science behind this technology? You designed these nanobots and the staff and built them yourself?”

“W-Well, not totally by myself,” Angela replied, suddenly seeming a little bashful. “My work was based on an earlier paper by a Chinese team. All I did was make some modifications to their design so that the nanobots could avoid rejection by the patient’s immune system. And as for the staff, Torbjörn was the one who was able to miniaturize a power source strong enough to sustain the containment field for the delivery beam.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Fareeha said earnestly, surprised at the confidence in her voice that was completely at odds with how she felt inside. “I mean, I always knew you were smart, but…wow. Even a luddite like me can tell what a major breakthrough your work was. You might have had help, but it’s _your_ invention in the end. Without you, they’d still be struggling with the theory today. Just think of how many lives it’s saved. You’re…that’s incredible.”

Fareeha stopped her effusive response as she noticed that Angela’s pale complexion had now gone from slightly flushed to bright red. Not only that, but she realised that in her eagerness to laud the doctor, she was taking their ‘safe’ topic of conversation dangerously close to more personal issues.

_Oh gods, did I come on too strong? Look how much she’s blushing. I shouldn’t have put her on the spot like that._

“I’m sorry,” Fareeha added hastily, hoping that she could still salvage the conversation after so expertly sabotaging it. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

It took Angela a few heartbeats to recover. She hooked a finger into her collar, tugging at it slightly to try and alleviate some of the heat around her neck. A small part of Fareeha noted that it was strange that a simple compliment could fluster Angela quite so much, but it was buried beneath the anxiety occupying the other 99% of her brain.

“No, no, please, don’t apologise,” the other woman stammered at last. “I-I’m not…that is to say…it’s…ach du meine Güte, it’s just been a long time since anyone said such…such nice things to me. I didn’t realise you felt…t-thank you.”

Fareeha let out a small sigh of relief, glad that Angela hadn’t taken her praise the wrong way.

 _Or, rather, the right way._  

“I mean it. You deserve credit for your accomplishments,” she said warmly. “And I also meant it when I said that I’d like to know more about what you do. That is, if you think you can dumb it down to cavewoman level.”

“Now who is the one selling themselves short?” Angela replied, shyly catching Fareeha’s gaze again. Her blush had abated but had not disappeared entirely. “I don’t think a cavewoman would be capable of such charming flattery, or for that matter, such graceful flight.”

“You didn’t see me the first time I got in this thing. They removed the restraints, I fired up the thrusters…and face-planted so hard into the ceiling it took me a week to recover normal vision.” Fareeha pulled an expression somewhere between an amused grin and a grimace of pain. “Suffice to say, I’ve improved since then.”

“Mein Gott,” Angela gasped, covering her mouth with her hand. “A week? You are fortunate there was no lasting damage. If only there had been a more attentive doctor to look out for you.”

“I guess I wasn’t as lucky back then as I am now.”

A moment of silence passed between them, but this time it was much more comfortable than before. Fareeha didn’t have the overwhelming urge to break it by blurting out any old nonsense, nor the inclination to hide away in the distraction of an irrelevant task. Instead, she simply basked in the comforting glow that being near Angela spread throughout her whole body. It was a feeling of _rightness_ , like everything was exactly where it should be. 

Which was odd, Fareeha thought. In spite of her repeated blunders and constantly tripping over her words whenever they were together, she felt like she and Angela were closer now than ever before. Whenever she stumbled and closed up, afraid that she’d done or said something wrong, Angela waited patiently for her to find her courage again. And whenever she did let her guard down, Angela rewarded her tenfold with a warmth and receptiveness that drew Fareeha in like a loving embrace. It was almost enough to make her believe that maybe, just _maybe_ , this connection between them wasn’t all in her head. 

 _Is it possible? Is there really a chance that me and her…_  

“H-Hey.” Angela’s voice immediately drew Fareeha’s attention. She sounded surprisingly hesitant; distinctly different from her usual verboseness, but perhaps unsurprising given that a rosy hue still clung to her cheeks. “You know how we’re transferring to Gibraltar soon?” 

“Yes,” Fareeha replied, nonplussed. 

“Well, the medical ward there is much better equipped than the one at Lyon. In fact, they’ve got a Nanobot Resonance Bifurcator; one of only five in the world. It uses the same technology as the Caduceus Staff, but on a much larger scale, allowing for far more complex procedures. I-I was just thinking, if…if you’re interested, when we got there I could, you know…show you how it works…some of the experiments I’ve been working on? O-only if you want to though. I understand if…”

“I would love to,” Fareeha said immediately. Any chance to spend more time with Angela got an automatic ‘yes’ from her. Although the look of extreme relief that momentarily passed over the other woman’s face was a little confusing. 

 _Wait. Was…was she asking me out on a…_  

“Target building is in range. Insertion team, ready deployment.” 

 _Damn._  

As much as Fareeha wanted to continue that train of thought, the mission had to take priority; and that announcement signalled that it was time for her and Angela to take their positions by the exit and prepare for an aerial drop.

“We’re up,” she said, nodding to the door.

“Right. Yes. Let’s go rescue those poor hostages.” 

Fareeha could sense pre-combat jitters in the base of her stomach, but compared to how she felt around Angela, they might as well have been a light tickle. She wondered what it said about her that she was more comfortable confronting trained soldiers than she was confronting her own emotions. Still, this was her element; flying the friendly, and sometimes, not so friendly, skies. It was refreshing to once again have a clear objective, and that was probably why she felt so incongruously at ease. 

_Good guys. Bad guys. Innocent lives to save. Why can’t everything be this simple?_

The door to the transport opened and the familiar sound of howling wind filled Pharah’s ear. By now they were low enough to make out the silhouettes of individual buildings, rapidly approaching.

“See you ladies on the other side,” McCree shouted above the din. He tipped his hat, but retained a tight grip as the swirling air currents threatened to steal it off his head

“If you must strike, strike quickly and decisively,” Genji added, still managing to sound calm despite the fact he was practically yelling.

Pharah nodded in their direction but her mind was already running through final flight preparations. She donned her helmet, taking note of the green lights dotting the heads-up display, before nodding with satisfaction. It all looked good. Across her body, she felt a series of tiny vibrations as ailerons and thrust ports aligned into ready positions.

“Have you ever done a drop like this before?” Fareeha asked, raising her own voice enough to be heard. As she said it, she glanced across at Angela, and suddenly felt her breath being stolen away. What had been intended as a quick check that the other woman was in position turned into a stare that she couldn’t break.

Angela stood poised on the precipice, gazing out at the sombre sky with a look that was equal parts determination and anxiousness. Her Valkyrie suit was fully prepared for flight, with wings extended and projecting great, lambent feathers of golden energy. Their light mingled with the few defiant rays of sunshine that managed to pierce the oppressive clouds, and seemed to play in the strands of loose hair that whipped around her face. Above her head, the scintillating halo antenna shone bright, casting her whole figure in a heavenly glow. It was a sight better suited to a stained-glass window than a war-torn wasteland.

_Gods, she’s so beautiful._

Fareeha couldn’t put a name to half the feelings running through her head at that moment, but the ache in her chest sent a clear enough message. 

“I’ve done the simulations,” Angela called back, breaking the spell she’d inadvertently cast. “I must admit though that they don’t quite prepare you for the…height.”

_Right. Back to the mission._

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Fareeha said, stepping closer so she didn’t have to shout quite so much. “Just stick close to me and you’ll be fine.” She hesitated, before adding “I’ll keep you safe.” 

Angela nodded, as if that settled the matter completely.

“Then I have nothing to fear.” 

The transport bore left, and suddenly they were hovering over the roof of a dilapidated apartment block.

“Greenlight. Go, go, go!”

Fareeha jumped, and sensed, rather than saw, the woman beside her do the same.

_You’d better be ready, Talon. Justice rains from above._

* * *

“Corridor clear, I’m moving up.”

Mercy watched with bated breath as Pharah advanced. The other woman was doing an impressive job at remaining silent, given her thirty kilos of combat armour, but each relatively soft footfall still managed to sound like a hammer blow when compared to the eerie quiet around them. She was obviously not well suited to this kind of operation, but then again, this wasn’t what any of them had expected going in.

The plan had been simple, as far as Mercy could tell; surprise Talon from all sides at once, cutting off their escape and trapping them away from the hostages. With her and Pharah above and McCree and Genji below, they’d have nowhere safe to run. Mercy had expected that they would catch Talon off guard, but she’d also assumed a firefight would be inevitable, once the mercenaries realised they were under attack. Despite the jokes and bravado bandied around at home base, she knew that Talon were far from incompetent.

The first sign that something was off had been the lack of sentry on the roof. Even to someone without a soldier’s eye for strategy, it seemed like an obvious tactical oversight. Still, she had assumed that maybe Talon wanted to keep a low profile and not draw attention to their presence in the building. Now, that theory was holding less and less water, as so far her and Pharah had descended three levels and had yet to glimpse one sign of enemy activity.

To say it made Mercy uneasy would be an understatement.

“Are we sure this is the right place?” she whispered to the woman in front. The question sounded like a bad joke, even to her, but it was fast becoming one of the only possible explanations.

“It’s the only tower this size in the whole town. No way to mistake it for anything else,” Pharah replied, although her voice lacked conviction. 

“Then maybe our intelligence was wrong?”

“Perhaps. Talon might have changed the time of the move at the last second.” If that was the case, then they’d already lost. The hostages were gone, and they’d missed their window. Mercy refused to accept that until there was no other choice.

“We still need to-“ Pharah began, but the sudden hint of a distant noise immediately drew Mercy’s attention. 

“Wait,” she cut across her companion, holding one hand up to stop her talking. “I think I hear someone.”

Mercy pricked up her ears, freezing every muscle and holding her breath. A few seconds of deathly hush ticked by, then she heard it again; the faintest sound of muffled voices from somewhere below. It was impossible to pick out any words or even if it was a man or woman, but it was definitely a person talking.

“It’s got to be at least another two floors down,” Pharah murmured. “Let’s return to the stairwell.”

The next minutes passed in total silence, save for the steadily increasing sounds of speech and the duo’s own muffled breaths. Mercy was certain that there would be hostiles on the floor with the captives, but as they crept through it, they were met with nothing but the same empty corridors and burnt-out rooms.

_Something is wrong here._

Mercy’s instincts were practically screaming at her. She scanned every shadow, checked every corner, eyes peeled for camouflaged enemies or booby traps. It made no sense. Why would Talon leave only a few men to guard the prisoners? Why were there no patrols? Why was there no surveillance? The building seemed utterly abandoned, but there was no denying the conversation coming from the only room that still seemed vaguely intact. By now they were close enough to hear it more clearly. Ahead, Pharah raised a clenched fist, signalling for Mercy to stop so they could listen again.

“I told you, you’re wasting your time.” The first voice was strained, male, and had an unmistakably French accent. One of the GIGN, Mercy guessed. “We don’t have that kind of clearance. No one here has the codes you’re looking for.”

“So you keep saying.” The second voice was enough to make Mercy’s eyes widen. It was also male, as far as she could tell, but it sounded neither human nor omnic. There was something unearthly in its rough, reverberating timbre that sent chills down her spine. “A pity I don’t believe you.”

“It doesn’t have to be this way, chéri,” came a third voice. Although even more heavily accented than the first, it was entirely different; extremely feminine and oozing with silky smoothness. “My partner will get it out of you, one way or another. Why not make it easy on yourself, hmm?”

“Va te faire enculer! Vous aurez rien de moi!” the GIGN prisoner spat. Mercy winced. She understood enough French to decipher what he was saying, and it was probably not going yield a pleasant result.

“Mon dieu, this one has quite the mouth,” the woman said, chuckling softly. “I say we make an example of him. Perhaps then his friends will be more…amicable.”

“I was hoping you’d say that,” growled her partner.

Mercy felt the bottom drop out of her stomach. She was about to yell to Pharah, but the soldier was already moving, gesturing her forward. They’d clearly both reached the same conclusion simultaneously; they had to strike now or the hostage was a dead man.

Pharah sprinted the few remaining metres to the room before letting off a small blast of her thrusters at the last possible moment. The extra boost of speed gave her enough momentum to break the rotting wood of the door, and with a cry, she barrelled right through it, sending splinters and loamy fragments scattering in all directions. Mercy followed close behind. She clutched her staff in her off hand but with her main she levelled her pistol, ready to put it to use if need be. Her priority, as always, was healing, but she knew that in situations like this it was sometimes necessary to take a few lives in order to save many more. She wouldn’t back down from doing what was required.

Mercy’s eyes darted left and right, seeking out either of the individuals they’d heard inside or any wounded prisoners that may need her attention.

But there was nothing.

Up ahead, Pharah too slowed to a stop, her war cry petering out as the lack of any opposition became apparent. They were, unmistakably, alone.

_I don’t understand. What are those voices then?_

In unison, both her and Pharah’s gazes were drawn to the one feature in the room that separated it from all the others. At the far end, a metal chair rested against the grimy, decaying wall. It stood out from its surroundings, appearing relatively new and clean amongst the decades-old filth that clung to everything else. But what sat on top of it was even more out of place. A radio: from which emanated the sound of gunshots and stifled cries as the raspy-voiced man made good on his threat.

Suddenly, everything made sense. 

The whole thing had been a recording. There had never been any Talon here at all, and the hostages were already dead.

 _They knew we were coming. Our intel was false_. _Which means…oh god._  

Several things happened at once. Pharah turned around, her face ashen almost beyond recognition. Her eyes momentarily locked with Mercy’s, but then looked past her, fixating on the wall behind. At the same time, the doctor felt a pressure wave ripple across her back. It wasn’t strong - barely enough to ruffle her hair - but in the very next instant her nostrils were assaulted with noxious gas of an overwhelming intensity. A purple haze filled her vision, stinging as fiercely as if someone had poured acid in her eyes. Instinctively, she brought her arm up across face and attempted to cry out for help; but opening her mouth proved to be a mistake, and instead, she gagged on the bitter fumes. She couldn’t see Pharah, but was dimly aware of her yelling something unintelligible.

Then, the crisp, clear report of a sniper rifle cracked through the air, loud enough to penetrate even Mercy’s overwhelmed senses. In her delirious state, she couldn’t tell who had fired, from where, or even if they were friend or foe. That was, until she realised who had been hit. 

_Oh…so that’s what it feels like._

Angela had seen the agony bullet wounds could cause on countless occasions. She knew there was a reason that soldiers sometimes begged for death rather than help. But she’d never experienced it herself. 

Until now.

The high-calibre slug had torn right through her shoulder, encountering no resistance from the light, nanocarbon weave she wore as armour. Half a second later, pain beyond anything she’d ever felt erupted from the wound, rampaging like wildfire down her arm and across her chest. 

If she could have screamed, she would have. 

Another half a second, and the pain was replaced with a numbness that, to a trained medical professional, was even more terrifying. Angela had approximately the length of a single blink to realise that she was going into traumatic shock. It was just enough time to try and thumb the button on her staff and engage the healing stream…but nothing happened. Either she’d dropped it, or the bullet had severed enough nerves to leave her arm essentially paralysed.

_Bitte, Fareeha…hilf mir!_

Then the world went dark. Like a puppet whose strings had been suddenly cut, Angela collapsed into a limp heap on the ground, and lay still.


	5. The Quietus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having sprung Talon's trap, Pharah fights desperately to protect Mercy and herself.

**Apartment Block, Tarbes**

**1 Week Ago - 1709 Hours**

“Angela!”

All around the haze clawed at her, stinging and biting, but Fareeha barely registered it. Her vision narrowed, collapsing inwards until all she could see was her companion slumped on the floor, unmoving. The image seemed remote…distant; as if viewed the wrong way down a telescope. However, no amount of visual distortion could hide the truth. Angela had been hit.

The world slowed to a crawl as Fareeha’s brain played catch-up, struggling to process the rapid series of events that had totally blindsided her over the last few seconds. Her eyes darted left and right, surveying and assessing every facet of the situation. In her heightened state, she could feel each individual beat of her heart, and with each one, a fresh surge of adrenaline spurring her on. It was times like these, when her conscious mind was still reeling from shock, that she fell back on her training and soldier’s intuition.

It had been a trap. That much was obvious. The ramifications of that were severe, but right now, irrelevant. She had to protect Angela, and they had to escape; link up with the others. To do that, she needed to get this damned gas out of her face.

The solution presented itself almost immediately. Holding her breath, Pharah closed all the exhaust ports across her Raptora suit and fired off a few fuel injection cycles. After a second of letting the waste fumes build in pressure she opened the shutters again, releasing a blast of air that effectively dissolved the purple cloud around her. The burning sensation in her throat and nostrils still didn’t abate, but she was once again able to fully inhale, and as soon as she found her voice, she was already shouting down her comm link.

“All units, we’ve been engaged by Talon, seventh floor. Unknown number of hostiles, but they’ve got a bead on the east side window. The hostages aren’t here, and Mercy’s been hit.” Pharah ran to Angela’s aid as she fired off her report, keeping a low profile to avoid any follow-up sniper shots. “It was a trap. Requesting immediate backup and extraction. She needs medical attention ASAP.”

The other end of the line cut in after a few seconds, and Pharah’s ears were immediately assaulted by the harsh sounds of gunfire.

“They’re here as well,” McCree replied over the din, punctuating his words with the roar of his Peacekeeper. “Just came ‘outta nowhere a few seconds ago. Genji and I are trying to make our way to ya but they’ve got us pinned two floors down.”

“I’m en-route with Team 2 and a medivac unit,” 76 interjected. “We’re no more than two minutes out. McCree, Genji, sit tight and try not to get yourselves killed. Pharah, do you have a clear path to the roof?”

“Yes.”

“Take it. We’ll come to you.”

_Please, for the love of Isis, hurry!_

“Affirmative,” Pharah replied out loud. “I’ll try and stabilise-!”

Her communiqué was cut short as a flash of movement in her peripheral vision grabbed her attention. She had just enough time to reflexively brace herself before the window, already weakened by the round which had pierced it earlier, shattered into the room. A female figure swung through the opening on the end of a metal line, twisting lithely through the air to land in a splayed, predatory position just feet from the fallen medic. Pharah caught the briefest glimpse of pale blue skin and seven red eyes regarding her coldly before she was immediately thrown onto the defensive once again. 

The next moments passed in a total blur of desperate, close-quarters combat. Pharah levelled her rocket launcher, but hesitated for a split-second, aware that there was no guarantee Angela would be far enough from the explosion if the shot hit. That was all the time her aggressor needed to strike. A hail of bullets filled the air, forcing Pharah to dive to one side. She felt several rounds strike her right flank but her armour successfully deflected them, throwing up angry sparks. The weapon was apparently low calibre, but she knew there were enough weak points in the joints of her suit for it to still pose a threat. Her own gun was basically useless in this confined space, so her best bet would be to disarm her enemy and level the playing field.

With that in mind she surged forward, hoping the element of surprise would be enough to close the distance between them. Apparently the mysterious woman had anticipated that move, however, as she nimbly sidestepped the attack and lashed out with a punishing kick aimed at the back of Pharah’s leg. The soldier was able to twist and catch the blow on her better-protected thigh, but it was still enough to stagger her momentarily, negating the follow-up punch she’d been preparing.

A gleam of metal caught Pharah’s eye as she recovered, and she quickly identified it as Mercy’s pistol, lying discarded on the ground. Now that was a weapon she _could_ use. It was out of reach, but she had a few tricks of her own that might work. She feinted right, just enough to disrupt the Talon agent’s aim, then fired off a short, controlled burst to readjust her course left. The jet propelled her across the room at alarming speed but Pharah was ready for it. She tucked into a roll as she landed, conserving her momentum, and dived for the gun as her feet touched the floor again. 

Her fingers had just grazed the grip when it was snatched away; snared by her attacker’s grapple and flung unceremoniously out of reach. Pharah snarled, pivoting on the spot and snapping up her left arm. She couldn’t risk an explosion in here but even a missile with a disabled warhead could be deadly if it struck its target dead on. The concussive rocket ignited and blasted from its housing, momentarily illuminating the dingy room with harsh, fiery light. Her aim was true, but the woman responded with a flexibility that seemed impossible for a regular human. She sunk into a splits and arched her back at an almost ninety-degree angle, ducking under the shot by mere millimetres.

Pharah was running out of options but she recognised the opening she’d created. Superhuman gymnast or not, there was no way someone could recover from that position immediately. It was the perfect opportunity to press the attack. However, she was acutely aware of the still-unconscious Angela, and how vulnerable she was at this moment. Every second this woman delayed her, the doctor’s condition worsened. Pharah hadn’t had a chance to fully assess Mercy’s injury but it had looked bad…bad enough that her bleeding out was a very real concern. It would take a few seconds to get her out the door, and now was perhaps the only chance she’d get. 

She was just about to grab Angela and make a break for it when the entire outer wall collapsed.

One moment it was there, the next it had been completely ripped away; torn down by steel anchor cables attached to a large, black aircraft holding position just outside the building. It bore no markings, but it didn’t take a genius to figure out who it belonged to.

_More Talon._

There was no other choice. Escape looked impossible, but she had to try or Angela was as good as dead. Pharah reached out for the unconscious woman…and was yanked backwards violently just before she could make contact.

_Kuss ummak!_

Pharah swore she caught a burst of cruel laughter sounding behind her as the blue woman’s grappling hook threw her onto her back. Before she’d even hit the ground she was tensing her muscles to rise again, but her attacker was already on top of her. A long, sinuous leg wrapped around the arm she was using to support herself, pinning it in place. With her free hand, Pharah tried to deliver a strike to the woman’s gut, but it was intercepted. Her assailant caught the fist mid blow, exerting an incredible amount of strength for someone with such a slim figure.

“Incroyable, what fire you have,” the Talon agent smirked. At some point during the fight, her headgear had retracted, revealing a dark, angular face that would have been strikingly beautiful if it weren’t for the utter lack of life behind her eyes. “She must mean a great deal to you, non?”

“Go to hell, snake,” Pharah spat, gritting her teeth and straining against the hold. The other woman was strong, but she could feel her grasp loosening.

“Un serpent? Careful with your words, amoureux. They may come back to _bite_ you.”

A searing, white-hot pain suddenly erupted in Pharah’s side, just beneath her ribs. Looking down, she saw a slender combat knife buried to the hilt in a join between two plates of her armour. The woman must have had it hidden in her boot.

_Oh…fuck._

As if that wasn’t bad enough, between the legs of her captor, she could see the gangway of the Talon dropship opening. At least a dozen armed mercenaries disembarked, jumping the short distance through the ruined wall and into the apartment. It was difficult to make out more; her vision was beginning to swim as the waves of pain from her wound intensified.

_Got to…get out…save…_

A fresh stab of agony drew a choked cry from her throat as her attacker tugged the blade out. She twirled it for a moment between her fingers, examining the wet blood along its length, before turning back to Pharah with the slightest hint of a smile.

“Such a pretty girl. Killing you almost seems like a waste. But, à la vie, à la mort.”

The woman positioned her knife for the fatal blow. Pharah was still struggling in her grasp, but it was rapidly becoming futile. The puncture in her abdomen was draining all her strength, and even if she could break free, she’d be in no state to take on a whole squad of armed Talon operatives. But she had to try. As long as there was the slightest trace of resistance left in her, she had to fight.

Because the alternative was abandoning the person she loved.

_Oh gods…I do love her, don’t I?_

Why hadn’t she realised sooner?

The blade came down, but just as the end seemed inevitable, the third unbelievable thing in just as many minutes happened.

A green streak flashed across Pharah’s vision, passing mere millimetres in front of her face. It caught the knife as it descended, glancing off with a resounding **ting** of metal on metal, and sent her adversary’s weapon spiralling out of her grasp.

“Quelle?” The blue woman’s eyes shot up, locking onto something Pharah couldn’t see.

“I suggest you let go of her,” a mechanical voice sounded, followed by a swoosh of air and the hum of steel as a blade was unsheathed. “The dragon hungers, and you and your men look like an excellent feast.”

“Very poetic,” came a familiar southern drawl. “Can I start shooting now?”

Immediately, the room descended into chaos. The pressure on Pharah’s chest was lifted as the assassin sprung off her to counter this new threat. All around, Talon opened fire, the muzzle flashes and reports of their weapons blurring together in a dizzying cacophony of light and sound. Somewhere to her right, as far as she could tell, one of McCree’s flashbangs detonated, and she caught a glimpse of several mercenaries reeling, clutching at their faces. Bullets ricocheted in all directions, throwing up fragments of concrete and wood as shots missed their mark of were deflected by Genji’s superhuman reflexes. The din was overwhelming, crowding in from all sides, and Pharah could feel herself slipping as more blood oozed from the opening in her belly.

_No…no, I still have a job to do._

As if on cue, the sharp knock of a round pinging off her helmet brought her back to her senses. Her own wound was irrelevant; the priority was still Angela’s safety. The medic was completely exposed, and Pharah knew that no matter how careful Genji and McCree were, there was no guarantee she wouldn’t be caught in the crossfire. Casting her gaze through the confusing jumble of legs and, now, corpses, Pharah singled out the white of Mercy’s Valkyrie suit.

_I’m coming Angela. Hold on._

Rolling onto her front and grimacing against the pain, she forced herself to put one hand in front of the other, crawling her way towards her injured teammate. Each pull flexed her abdominal muscles, which felt like they had a rusty razor blade lodged deep within them. In the back of her mind, it occurred to her that the injury was either worse than she’d thought, or that the knife had been poisoned. Possibly both.

_No time for that now._

Somewhere over her head a man cried out, and Pharah felt a splash of warm liquid on the back of her neck. She was vaguely aware of Genji withdrawing his blade from a mercenary’s jugular, but she didn’t stop to check what was happening. Just like earlier, her whole world consisted solely of Angela, now only a few feet in front of her.

_I won’t let them hurt you. I promise._

She was practically on top of Mercy when her vision began to blur. The air seemed to shimmer, and Angela’s blood-flecked features grew fainter. Pharah’s first thought was that the pain was finally getting the better of her, but as she desperately stretched out her hand, she realised that she could see it with perfect clarity. Whatever the ripple was, it wasn’t in her mind; it was a physical presence in the room.

The distortion intensified, morphing into a thick fog which in turn congealed into a humanoid figure. It loomed over Pharah, seemingly oblivious to the gunfire whizzing through the air. Several stray rounds struck its chest but they passed right through, leaving only a few wisps of vapour in their wake. However, when it raised one leg and brought a thick combat boot down on her extended arm, it was suddenly very, very solid. Her rigid armour absorbed the blow, but it wasn’t enough to protect against the savage kick to her gut that came moments later. Agony exploded from Pharah’s wound, burning through every nerve in her body and setting her on fire from the inside out.

For a couple of seconds, everything went dark.

When her eyes opened again, a chill went down her spine, cold enough to register even above the pain. The ghostly figure was hunched over Angela, studying her from behind a skeletal mask and a thick, black hood. Its very existence felt wrong and obscene, like something that should never have existed had clawed its way out of a nightmare. For a brief moment the abomination was as still as the grave, simply watching and waiting while carnage raged on all sides. Then it nodded, as if satisfied with what it saw, and closed a clawed hand around Angela’s halo. 

_No!_

Pharah tried with all her might to move, to will herself into action, but her body refused to listen. She could do nothing but watch helplessly as, in one powerful motion, the figure slung Angela ten feet through the air to crash into the hold of the Talon dropship.

“Fall back,” it ordered immediately after, and Pharah recognised the same hateful growl she’d heard on the recording. “We have what we came for.”

At once the battle shifted, as Talon operatives began retreating to their craft. The demon was already striding off, oblivious to the men on either side who fell before McCree’s deadly aim. On the way, and almost as an afterthought, it bent down to pluck Mercy’s Caduceus staff off the ground, tossing it disdainfully after its owner.

“Dammit Jack, they’re taking her!” McCree shouted, giving voice to what Pharah could not. “We need that air support yesterday!”

“I’ve got them in my sights,” came the crackling reply. “Everyone hold on. Danger close!”

Through the ruined wall, a rapidly approaching fleck of orange could be seen against the turgid sky. 76 had the transport on full burn, and was closing at an alarming rate.

“Do not fire directly on their vessel. Mercy is within,” Genji said urgently. On the other end of the line, Pharah caught a snippet of cut-off cursing.

“Copy that,” 76 said through clenched teeth. “A shot to the starboard engine should – “

“Don’t waste your time.”

The grating voice stopped everyone in their tracks. It was on the secure channel, but it was not one of their own. On the gangway of the Talon dropship, the figure turned, staring back at the group.

_You._ Pharah locked eyes with the beast that dared to lay a hand on Angela. _I will end you for what you’ve done!_

As if in response to her thoughts, it drew one clawed hand across its throat, and barked a harsh chuckle directly into Pharah’s earpiece.

“You lost this battle before it even began.”

The hatch began to shut and, with a mighty roar, the craft’s engines spun up.

“Ten seconds to positive lock!” 76 shouted.

But Pharah knew. The second the figure had locked eyes with her, she’d known that they would fail. Talon had been one step ahead of them at every turn, and now that they had what they wanted, escape was merely a formality. The ghost and the spider had played her for a fool…and Angela had trustingly followed her straight into their snare.

Pharah spat out a choked sound halfway between a sob and a scream of frustration as the door fully closed, sealing away her Angela in a steel tomb.

_Forgive me habib alby._

The air around the dropship shifted, dissolving and twisting into a pixelated blur that spread like a wave along the vessel’s belly. It happened almost faster than the human eye could track, and by the time it was done, only thin air remained where the Talon transport had been moments ago. It was like it had simply blinked out of existence.

And just like that, she was gone.

“What in the hell…?” McCree cried disbelievingly.

As one last insult on top of the injury, the mag round from the Overwatch aircraft blasted out of the sky, striking nothing but dirt.

“Cloaking tech…” 76 hissed over the comms, accompanied by a crash as he slammed his fist down on a console. “We suspected those bastards were working on it, but no intel suggested they had a functioning prototype.”

“But we can still track them on radar, right?” McCree said.

“The camouflage is full spectrum. None of our current instruments can detect that dropship, but I’ll requisition some high altitude reconnaissance to scan the area. If we’re lucky, they won’t be able to keep the cloaking field active for long, and we might be able to reacquire them.”

“And if we’re unlucky?”

No one wanted to answer that.

Far too late, Pharah finally found the strength to haul herself to her feet. She teetered on the spot, aware of the pain that threatened to send her crashing back down again, but strangely separate from it. Her whole being was numb and distant; like she was watching someone else’s life through their eyes. On autopilot, she stepped forward, approaching the precipice. She wasn’t even sure what she was doing, but the thought of inaction in the face of such abysmal failure was intolerable.

_Angela…_

Another shaky footfall threatened to overbalance her. Suddenly, Genji was at her side, resting a hand lightly on her chest and stopping her in her tracks.

“There is nothing you can do, Fareeha,” he said quietly. “Take off now, and you will fall. Save your rage for the opportune moment.”

Fareeha blinked. Rage? Heartbreak? Despair? She couldn’t put words to the chasm opening in her chest. The last time she’d felt even remotely similar, she’d been but a child…a young girl who’d just been told of her mother’s death. And now, for all her training - all the strength she’d thought she’d found - she was as powerless as she had been then.

“W-We...” Her voice was small and frail, barely more than a whisper and only audible to the cyborg beside her. “We’ll get her back…w-won’t we?”

Genji nodded.

“We shall”

* * *

The first thing that Angela became aware of was the sensation of something cold and hard pressing against her cheek. It existed in isolation, alone in a black void without sight, sound, or memory of what had just happened. The feeling was not inherently unpleasant, but it bore an undercurrent of foreboding that she could not place; like it was a signal of something much, much worse.

_W-where am I?_

That point of reference alone was not enough to paint a clear picture, so for want of a better plan, Angela waited patiently for her other faculties to return. Sure enough, one by one, they faded in. The unyielding chill that pressed against her face spread down her right side, and close behind it, a dull ache that felt like her entire body was bruised. Her head swam, groggy from what she presumed had been a period of unconsciousness, but also with a vertigo that indicated she was moving. There was a vestigial sting in her throat and upper chest, like she had swallowed something unpleasant. And finally, distinct and overpowering, a burning splinter of pain in her shoulder. It was almost like…

Angela’s eyes snapped open as the memories came flooding back. The mission, the apartment block, the room, Talon’s trap, and the shot that had knocked her out; it all raced through her mind like a video played on fast-forward.

_Oh scheiße._

The urge to panic reared its head, but Angela knew that would accomplish nothing. Hyperventilation was likely to send her back under. Instead, she focussed on maintaining steady breathing, and forced her attention outwards.

Wherever she was now, it wasn’t where she had been. There were no wooden floorboards or peeling plaster walls. She lay on a metal deck in a confined space, illuminated with dim, red lighting. All around was a low humming frequency that muffled other noise, and every few seconds, she got another sensation of movement. Putting the pieces together, it was clear that she was in some kind of transport.

_Not Overwatch though._

Which left only one alternative.

Angela’s heart skipped a beat. As her senses finished attuning, she began to detect the murmur of voices throughout the compartment. She couldn’t see anyone from her angle, but it sounded like at least five separate individuals, maybe more. Given that she wasn’t confident in her ability to take even one on, and that was without a debilitating shoulder injury, fighting her way free was out of the question. There had to be some alternative. 

Looking around as best she could without moving her head and drawing attention to herself, Angela tried to ascertain her relative position. It looked like she was towards the rear of the craft, just inside the entrance ramp. Perhaps, if she was fast enough, she could release the hatch and bail out before anyone could stop her. It was a long shot, but now, while the transport was still in motion, was her best and perhaps only opportunity. It would take perhaps two seconds to reach the release button, and after that, it all depended on how quickly the door opened. That would be plenty of time for an alert mercenary to put a fatal round in her back, but given that they’d gone to all this trouble to take her alive…

It was a crap plan, but it was the only one she had.

Angela tensed, doing her best to block out the throbbing that had spread across her chest and arm.

Three…

Two…

Out of nowhere, a boot struck her in the small of her back, savagely forcing her down to the deck again. The impact knocked out the breath she’d been holding, and sent fresh tendrils of pain shooting from her wound. Angela struggled, trying to twist free, but her attacker applied more weight, pinning her in place. A gun was brought up right beside her head and suddenly she was deafened by a high-pitched ringing, as it was fired into the floor at point-blank range. She cried out, but couldn’t even hear her own voice.

Hands grabbed the back of her suit, and she felt them roughly yanking at something. Several powerful motions later, sparks cascaded across the floor, before being joined by the mangled remains of her wings. Angela watched in horror as whoever had stopped her escape stamped on them again and again, until there was nothing left but ruined scrap.

“Get her up.”

Two Talon mercenaries took her by the arms, pulling her to her feet. The motion tugged viciously at the torn muscles in her shoulder, and Angela had to bite back a scream. 

“I said a non-lethal shot,” the figure before her growled. His voice was raw, and tinged with an insidious, ethereal quality…but there was something more. Even in her semi-delirious sate, Angela could swear there was something familiar about it; beyond the fact that she’d heard it on the recording.

In the background, half hidden by shadow, a slim, blue-skinned woman shrugged.

“She’s alive, non?” 

“Not for long if we leave her like this. Give me that.” 

One of the soldiers handed the ‘man’ Mercy’s Caduceus staff. He grunted in acknowledgement, taking it as if he’d rather be holding just about anything else. Raising it to the hole in Angela’s suit, he flicked the button, and engaged the healing stream. 

In spite of everything, Angela couldn’t help but feel a small rush of relief as the healing rays washed over her. The pain and grogginess clouding her mind receded, and she could sense a tingling across her shoulder blade as tendon and bone were knitted back together. It only took a few seconds before the wound was fully healed, and the shrapnel that had been lodged inside her was scattered on the floor.

As soon as she was recovered, the figure tossed the staff aside.

“Don’t expect any more favours like that. We may need you alive, but unharmed is definitely not necessary.”

“And who is ‘we’?” Angela asked crisply, finding a scrap more courage now that she wasn’t crippled with agony. “Who are you?”

The man laughed; an utterly humourless expression.

“You’ll find out soon enough, doctor Ziegler. You’re property of Talon now.”


	6. A Threat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reaper and Mercy have their first conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys. Really sorry it's taken me so long to update and I left you all hanging. Thanks for being patient. There was no real reason for the delay; just the usual mixture of being busy and stuff getting in the way, you know how it is. I anticipate and hope that there wont be anywhere near such a big delay before the next chapter, but if it does end up taking a while, know that I am actively working on it and I haven't abandoned the story. With that said, I hope you enjoy this one :)

**Watchpoint: Gibraltar**

**Present Day – 2037 Hours**

It had taken thirty minutes and two cups of green tea, but at last Fareeha felt like the worst of the tears were behind her. The effort of continuous crying had left the muscles of her face numb and swollen, and she was certain that she looked an absolute mess, but she nevertheless did her best to offer a tremulous smile to Genji as he presented her with a third mug. It was the least she could do to show her appreciation after the pep talk he’d given her.

“Feeling better?” the cyborg asked, resuming his seat on the floor. Fareeha nodded.

“As good as I can, given the circumstances.”

“I thought you would. I don’t usually fail my missions.”

Fareeha chuckled at that. The sound felt surprisingly alien, having not passed through her throat for over a week.

_Good to know I still can._

“You certainly didn’t this time,” she said out loud. “This is good. I’m surprised that someone with…well, with no sense of taste can make something so delicious.”

“I did have one once you know,” Genji replied, giving his own mechanical snort of amusement. “Besides, making tea is much like splitting an arrow; once you’ve learnt, you never forget.”

“Splitting an arrow? Mid-flight? I know you’re good, but come on.”

“It’s true! I’ve done it before. Although I doubt the only witness would be willing to recount the experience.”

“Hmm, well isn’t that convenient.”

They sat in good-natured silence for a while, Fareeha periodically sipping her drink to check if it had cooled enough. The warm liquid went down easily, and did wonders for the various aches that infested every nook and cranny of her body. She just hoped she’d be able to hold onto it for more than an hour.

“Do you sleep?” she asked eventually, partially because a conversation helped to keep her mind from straying to dark places, and partially because it was something she’d been curious about for a while.

“Yes,” Genji replied. “My brain is still organic, and requires rest like anyone else’s. It’s also a good opportunity to recharge." 

“Like, _literally_ recharge?”

“Of course. I can’t eat, but my body still needs power, so I have to make do with an internal battery.”

Fareeha shook her head. “I can’t even begin to imagine what that must be like.”

“It is not so bad…or so I came to learn in time. For every freedom that has been taken away from me, a new one has replaced it. I can move faster, fight longer, and endure more pain than I ever could before.”

“Wait, wait…you can still be hurt?” Fareeha asked, genuinely surprised. She didn’t want to pry too deeply, but it was a shock to find out that Genji wasn’t the unfeeling, living weapon that she’d assumed he was.

“Yes. When Dr. Ziegler and her team rebuilt me, they did not intend to include pain receptors. They told me they thought I had suffered enough, and they wanted to free me from that burden. It was a generous and thoughtful offer, but I declined.”

“Why?”

“Because I wanted to feel like I was still alive, and pain is a part of life; as much as happiness, laughter, and love. But more than that, pain creates action. It tells us that something is wrong, that a change must be made. Were it not for the pain in your heart when Angela was taken, would you have ever confronted your feelings? Pain makes us learn. Believe me, I know.”

Fareeha thought on that. The statement resonated with her more closely than she cared to admit. Before Angela had been taken, she’d been polarised by indecision. Her feelings had been jumbled, and she’d thought that what she needed was time. But then, suddenly, Angela was gone, and in that moment, all her confusion had just fallen away. The truth was painful in its simplicity, and she’d been left wondering why it had taken her so long to realise it.

“It’s definitely taught me a thing or two,” she conceded, regret creeping back into her voice.

“Then do not repeat my mistakes,” Genji countered earnestly. “Do not let self-pity consume you. When she awakes, and I am certain that she will, go to her. Embrace the good that can come from this situation, however small, and follow your heart. You must seize this second chance, because few people get a third.”

“I want to…more than anything…but is it really that simple?”

“All things are simple. They are only complicated in your mind.” Genji paused to think for a moment. “Try throwing that mug in the air, and I will show you.”

Fareeha looked at the cup she was holding. “Okayyy…”

_What the hell, he’s earned some benefit of the doubt._

Quickly, she downed the last few dregs. Genji watched impassively, but Fareeha’s eyes caught the way his body tensed imperceptibly, preparing for action.

“You ready for…whatever it is you’re going to do?”

“Proceed.”

Fareeha tossed the mug upwards, gently enough that it wouldn’t go crashing into the ceiling. For a moment, nothing happened. Genji sat as still as a stone.

_Is this yet another cryptic lesson?_

Then, just as the mug reached the highest point of the throw, he acted. Where Genji had been, there was suddenly nothing but a blur of motion, too fast for Fareeha’s eyes to track. Green streaks accompanied the whine of steel slicing the air as a whirlwind of metal engulfed the cup.

One and a half seconds later, it was done. Genji snapped back into view, sheathing his blade at the same time that a scatter of white chippings fell to the floor. The mug had been shaved into almost a hundred different pieces. Most were smaller than a fingertip, but in the centre of the pile, cut neatly out of one whole side of the cup, was a small, porcelain silhouette of an angel.

“Holy shit…” Fareeha exclaimed, exhaling sharply. “Okay, now I believe you about the arrow. How…How did you do that?”

Genji took a moment to extend the pistons across his shoulders and vent a few wisps of green coolant.

“I focussed on the mug, and cut away every part that did not look like an angel.”

Fareeha picked up the sculpture, still hot from the friction of Genji’s sword. She turned it over in her hands, examining the craftsmanship. The design was simplistic, but each cut was precise, giving a result that was perfectly smooth and symmetrical. 

“You can keep it if you like,” Genji said. “It was your mug after all.”

“Thank you. It’s beautiful.” Fareeha ran a finger wistfully across the angel’s face. “But I can think of someone else who would appreciate it more.”

_How do I even begin to tell her?_

“She may well do,” Genji chuckled. “However, I believe it is the giver, not the gift, that will please her.”

Fareeha’s heart jumped a few beats.

_Gods, I hope he’s right._

* * *

 

**Somewhere in the Pyrenees Badlands…**

**1 Week Ago – 2031 Hours**

The trip had been conducted in dead silence; the guns constantly levelled at her had ensured that much. Trapped in the cramped belly of the dropship, with only the rush of wind and groaning of metal outside to inform her of what was happening, Angela was left with nothing but her fear for company. And she was afraid…terrified, if she was being honest with herself. She’d been in warzones before, even been directly shot at on more than one occasion, but never held hostage like this. All those past times the danger had been remote, and she’d had friends and comrades at her side. Now, she was truly alone…a captive of Talon. And Talon’s record with prisoners was almost non-existent, mainly because the few they did take were never heard from again.

Faced with such a grim prospect, Angela’s only defence against the panic was to force those morbid thoughts aside and try to imagine what Pharah would do, had their situations been reversed. The Egyptian woman was beyond brave, and where natural courage ended, training and a soldier’s discipline picked up. She wouldn’t buckle under pressure, or allow the intimidation tactics of Talon to grind her down; she’d already be assessing her options.

_Fareeha…God, I hope you’re safe._

The uncertainty about what had happened after she’d blacked out gnawed at Angela. It had all happened so fast, and the last thing she remembered was Fareeha’s haunted expression as toxic smog closed in on all sides. Despite that, she couldn’t find it in herself to believe that Fareeha was dead. Somehow, she _knew_ that the other woman had made it out alive. The logical part of her brain, the part that retained the knowledge she’d acquired in Psych 101, told her that this was a coping mechanism; that Fareeha was the one beacon of hope that was preventing her mental state from unravelling, and her mind would instinctively protect that lifeline, no matter how irrational it was. 

Well, if that was the truth, Angela welcomed it. Anything to avoid facing the alternative.

_I cannot change what happened. All I can do is focus on the present. Like where we are going…_

Angela expected that she was being taken to some remote processing facility. Although Overwatch’s intel on Talon was patchy at best, it was believed that in addition to the public buildings they used as a front, they had several secret underground bases dotted throughout Europe. Any such site would be a perfect place to make her ‘disappear’…or whatever else they had planned. The thought made her skin crawl, but at the very least, it offered hope that rescue or escape may be possible.

She had just resigned herself to an extended and exceedingly uncomfortable transportation when she felt a drop in her stomach which signalled that the vehicle was beginning to descend. It was followed half a minute later by the jolt of landing gear contacting the ground. But the sound that accompanied it was more like an impact with sodden earth than the metallic surface of a landing pad. In the moments before the door opened, Angela ran some quick maths in her head. Given their short flight time, and what she assumed was a similar speed to Overwatch transports, they couldn’t be more than sixty miles from where they started. That meant odds were good that they were still in the Pyrenees Badlands. It was a strange move. Since Talon had clearly managed to avoid being followed, why not seize the chance to flee the area completely?

_What are they playing at?_

With a pneumatic hiss, the exit ramp lowered, allowing murky sunlight to spill into the compartment. At the same time, the door to the cockpit slammed open, and the hooded man and his slender sidekick emerged. He barely spared a glance for Angela as he passed, but the gesture he made with his clawed hand was clear.

‘Bring her.’

Two burly mercenaries took her by the arms, while a third undid the harness that held her in place. They yanked her to her feet and roughhoused her out of the dropship, pressing the tip of a gun barrel into her back for good measure. Angela had to bite back the urge to flippantly point out that such force was unnecessary, as she had no way of escaping even if they weren’t physically restraining her. Instead, she used the opportunity to take in as much of her surroundings as she could, trying to spot any landmarks that could help her narrow down where she was. There was no way to know when such information might be useful. 

Her initial guess appeared to have been correct. All around, decaying ruins encrusted with vines and moss indicated that while people had lived here once, civilization had long since left this place behind. This town seemed smaller than Tarbes, although still big enough to play host to several sizeable building husks. To her left, the rocky slopes of the Pyrenees loomed upwards, their jagged peaks puncturing the sky like vicious teeth. It was a sight that could have been awe inspiring; but the dark, oppressive clouds overhead, coupled with her present situation, yielded a much more ominous atmosphere. 

In her more immediate vicinity, it looked like the transport had landed in what had once been the town square. Some of the shopfronts facing onto it still bore peeling, sun-bleached signage, and to one side, a pile of rubble was just about distinguishable as a dried-up fountain. Rusted car shells were dotted here and there, their innards picked clean and reclaimed by nature. However, amongst the wreckage of the old world were signs of more recent, and more sinister, activity. Unmarked metal crates were stacked inside some of the stores. Black-clad soldiers stood guard in nooks and crannies, surveying the streets. And on a nearby roof, what looked like a surface-to-air missile launcher sat shrouded in camo netting. The closer Angela looked, the more she could make out. There was an entire hive of Talon activity hidden just beneath the surface.

The mercenaries escorting her moved quickly, heading not for any of the shops or houses, but for a crumbling church set slightly back from the main square by a small graveyard. The tombs and gravestones were even more choked with vegetation than everything else, but a path had been cleared to the front door, and it was down this path that Angela was led. As they passed the cloying brambles and vines, she saw that they hadn’t been cut back, but had simply withered and died in this particular patch.

_How odd._

“Big guy must feel right at home here,” one of the soldier’s muttered to his companions.

“Keep it down, idiot,” another hissed. “You really wanna risk pissing Reaper off?”

“What, he got super hearing now too?”

“Who fucking knows? Better safe than sorry. I’m not about to end up like Justin.”

_Reaper…_

Angela grimaced. So now she had a name for the face…or at least, the mask. She remembered hearing about a mercenary using that moniker some time ago. Records indicated that he had been part of the attempt to steal Doomfist’s gauntlet, and had later attacked Winston at Gibraltar immediately after the recall had been issued. They also stated that he possessed some kind of supernatural powers, although Angela was hesitant to believe that was anything more than superstition. Still, whoever he was, and whatever his capabilities, it seemed that he occupied a senior position within Talon. That alone was enough to make him a serious threat.

As mysterious as the man was, the strangely pale woman was an even more unknown quantity. Angela hadn’t managed to get a good look at her in the dim confines of the dropship, and she’d slunk away the moment they’d exited. Like Reaper, there was something bordering on familiar about her, but Angela couldn’t place what. Her accent? Her hair? It was little more than a niggling feeling, but if it had caught her attention despite all the chaos and fear, it must be important.

A sound of ancient iron hinges screeching in protest brought her back to the present, as Reaper parted the heavy doors of the church. The inside was much like the outside; collapsed in places and thick with moss and lichen. The roof held firm however, leaving the only light sources as a set of cracked and faded stained-glass windows at the far end, and some dingy, fluorescent lightbulbs. It was a surreal sight, splendour mixing with squalor in equal measure, and all painted over with a veneer of modern Talon technology. This seemed like a central control hub or operations center, judging by the number of displays and a large broadcast antenna that occupied the center of the nave. 

Their party moved through the space quickly, hustling Angela towards the rear of the church. The chancel was partitioned off by a mouldy rood screen, essentially creating a separate room whose interior was obscured from the outside world. It was a dead end, so presumably, it was their ultimate destination. Once Angela had been led inside, she saw why.

The altar had been displaced, and now sat smashed into rubble at the base of the stepped dais like someone had simply flung it down by hand. In its place sat a shiny metal frame comprised of two vertical posts, attached to which were thick-set chains ending in powered manacles. Another silent gesture from Reaper, and Angela was forced up the steps and into position. Her mind raced, looking for an opportunity to slip away before she was bound in place. Now was perhaps her only shot, but there were just too many mercenaries…

The shackles locked on with an electronic whirr.

“Prisoner secure, sir,” a Talon soldier reported, backing away from Angela and finally lowering his weapon.

“Leave us.” Reaper waved dismissively.

The mercenary nodded, then joined the others in retreating hurriedly out of the room. He was a young man who hadn’t been on the transport, and as he left, he risked a glance back at Angela. Their eyes met for a second, and the look we wore made the doctor’s blood run cold. Instead of a smirk of triumph, or even cruel indifference, his expression was one of fear…and pity.

The moment the door shut, there was a palpable shift in the atmosphere. A silence that was almost deafening flooded the chamber. It had been quiet before, but there had also been those tiny, inconsequential background noises that indicated the presence of life; the shuffling of boots, the ruffle of clothes, muffled breaths, and the murmur of distant conversation. Now, there was nothing. Reaper regarded her with a stillness that could have passed for a statue…or a cadaver.

Against her better judgement, Angela was filled with the urge to speak, if only to distract herself from the rising dread the quiet instilled in her.

“So…” she winced as her voice faltered “…w-what happens now?”

Reaper didn’t reply. He cocked his head, as if listening to a sound only he could hear, then slowly paced over to where Mercy’s staff sat propped against a wall. Angela thought she caught a snippet of him mumbling under his breath, but the words seemed to be soaked up by the deathly still.

“Some of your men must have been hurt back there,” she offered. “I’m a medic. I could help them.”

_If I can just establish a dialogue with this man. Find out what he wants…_

Reaper took the staff in one hand, idly twirling it to test its weight. Whatever the result, he seemed satisfied, because he turned back to Angela and approached her podium, device clutched in his claw.

“What do you say?” Mercy tried again. “You wouldn’t have to release me. If you bring the wounded in, I could–“ 

She never got the chance to finish her sentence. Without warning, Reaper lashed out with the staff, swinging it in a large, powerful arc, and smashing the head across Angela’s jaw. The unnatural silence was spilt by a savage crack, followed by a series of rattles as several loose teeth scattered down the altar steps.

Angela screamed, although what came out was closer to a wet, raspy moan. Her mouth was overwhelmed with the metallic tang of blood, and she could sense that the left-hand side of her jaw was now hanging very loose. At best, it was dislocated. At worst, and judging by the pain spreading from that area, most probably, it was completely shattered.

_Oh gott, oh gott…shieße, das tut so weh!_

Suddenly, Reaper was right in her face. He clamped his free hand over her ruined jaw, squeezing hard enough to fill her eyes with agonised tears. The metal of his gauntlet was like ice, and burned white-cold against Angela’s blotchy, bruising skin.

“Do you think I’m an idiot?” he growled, emphasising his words with more pressure in his grip. “Speak again without being asked a question, and I break your kneecaps too. Got it?”

Angela could barely process his words, but she had just enough presence of mind to give a tiny, panicked nod. Reaper stared her down for several more seconds, then relaxed his grasp. Immediately, she coughed out a stringy gobbet of blood and saliva, mixed in with a few more fragments of tooth.

“You have no idea how satisfying that was,” Reaper said coldly, wiping the head of the Caduceus staff on the leg of his robe.

“W-Wu…” Mercy struggled to articulate some response, but with her mouth unable to close properly, she had difficulty speaking around a steady trickle of frothy red drool. “Wuh-y?”

“Why? WHY?!” Reaper roared, and Angela flinched as it looked like he was about to strike her again. “You have the nerve to ask me that after what you did?”

“Wah…wah-t, duhd ah d-do?!” she pleaded. “Whu…ah yuh?”

Reaper’s hand clenched into a fist. His whole body was shaking from what Angela could only assume was anger. But more than that, there seemed to be faint ripples oscillating around his form, as if there was something moving beneath his clothing. It was like a scene out of a dream, and Angela couldn’t be certain it wasn’t just the pain playing tricks with her brain.

“You really don’t know,” he said at last; a statement, not a question. “Of course…why would you? You never did believe you were capable of making mistakes. Good to see that sickening arrogance hasn’t changed.” 

Mercy heard the words, but they made no sense. He spoke as if he was a part of her past, as if he knew her…but, how could he? There was no way she’d have forgotten meeting this man before.

“You’re fortunate that I don’t have time right now to educate you,” Reaper continued. “Your little band of misfits continue to play at being heroes; a problem which I have to deal with. So, here’s what’s going to happen. When I get back, you are going to give me the access codes for the Overwatch satellite network. And don’t waste my time feigning ignorance because I know how Jack operates; he’ll have given them to you. If you don’t tell me, I will _make_ you; starting with breaking every bone in your body, one at a time. One way or another, I’m getting those codes, so I suggest you use the next eight hours to think long and hard about whether it’s worth resisting.”

Reaper stepped back, spreading his arms, and as he did, a biting draft swept into the room. Before Angela’s disbelieving eyes, pieces of him began to collapse, dissolving into smoky ash and peeling away into the air current. In just a few seconds, his whole body, save for his hood and mask, had transformed into a thick, black gas. It hung in the air, swirling and eddying, not at random, but with a sentient malevolence. And when he next spoke, it emanated from every mote in the cloud, rolling around the chamber like thunder.

“Don’t think I’ll stop when I run out of bones. There other ways in which you can be persuaded.”

Then he was gone; blown away like dust on the wind.

Angela blinked, mind reeling. No number of tears blurring her vision or pain-induced delirium could explain away what she’d just seem. It defied everything she knew to be true, yet it had happened all the same. The reports had been correct.

What chance did she have against such a creature?

_Please Fareeha…save me from this nightmare._


End file.
